Tea and Crackers
by cleefiction
Summary: AU, ba, gjenny, xc - News travels fast in a small town and in this case, it sucks to be Buffy. Teen pregnancy is never simple. Warning: This fic involves a charcter death
1. Part 1

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Part 1

~ April, 1998 ~

Quiet was the word you would use to describe the house. While other families were busy laughing and carefree-ing the cool night away, the two occupants of this home were just silent. They sat in separate rooms, distracting themselves with meaningless tasks. It was all just to pass the time. It had been that way for a while now. Going back a few months ago, if you had walked into this cheerful little house, filled with artwork and soft lights, it would have been the stable assumption that there would be music and laughter and the perpetual fragrance of cookies and homemade lasagna. Now, the smell was barely a lingering memory of what this family had been: something that was no more.

The house still appeared inviting to the outsider's perspective but the two living there had a jumpy aura to themselves now.

It was ironic in a way: for years she had struggled along in school and now Buffy could practically be at the top of her class. That is, if she was still enrolled there…which she wasn't. This was merely a tiny reason in a dictionary-sized book of reasons for the quiet. Her mother used to pride herself on lecturing Buffy about school and how "important grades were if you were going to get into a good college" and "don't you even say you don't want to go to college, Buffy, don't you even start that." "Why can't you be more like Willow?" "Can't you focus on school for two seconds?" "Honestly, Buffy, you're driving me up the wall!" "Boys aren't the only thing in this world, you know!"

Boys. That would have been a laugh…had Buffy been able to. But she had taken one path and was now unable to will her face to form even the ghost of a smile. If it was true that laughing made you healthier then she was surprised she wasn't dead by now. She went through the days, dragging herself through the house, cleaning, studying…whatever she could do. She couldn't really tell if she was sad…or maybe bored… Hell, maybe she was even happy.

Or not.

Buffy wanted to be something; not just stuck in the middle of the hole she'd dug deep and hopped right in. Climbing out wasn't an option anymore. It could have been last September (which was nearly seven months ago) when this whole thing had started. She could have ended it right there. Then again, so could he. But neither did. Were they just not mature enough; didn't have the will power? Or was it that they were trying to follow something that, in this society, was dispraised: their hearts. They had followed their hearts and…it had ruined them.

Buffy glanced out the window and into the late April night. Though it was moderately warm, she wrapped her arms tightly around herself and shivered. All the houses on the block were buzzing with life and joy. The lights were on and Buffy could barely made out the silhouettes of the people. But not in _their_ house… Never their house…

The clock read twelve-thirty and Buffy knew she was tired. She knew she should sleep. Yet she made no move to get up from her customary place by the sill. She could feel the slight bagging of her eyes, the skin exhausted from holding itself up for so long with no rest. Like Buffy. No rest for the wicked. And that's what she was, right? Wicked. At least, that was what everyone was saying.

Buffy recalled the time, when she was probably no more that six or seven, when she'd sneak out of her room on Sunday afternoons and creep onto the stairs to eavesdrop on what her mother and friends were saying. Because every Sunday, the good day of the Lord, was gossip day. Joyce would prepare ice-tea and cakes and delicate devilled eggs and the women would gather in the living room, and boy, would they talk. They talked about how Grace Newman had gotten drunk again and passed out on the steps of town hall and how little Darrel, who was only ten ("Poor thing!"), was going to have a hard, hard life without a father ("I never did like him!"). They talked and talked and Buffy listened and listened. No single person lasted more than two weeks; their story would die down and a new one would pop up. When that happened, Joyce and her friends were like wolves to an injured deer: they dropped everything and grabbed that scandal and immediately began tearing away at the outside until they got the complete story. No one lasted long. No one but Marcy Ross.

Marcy Ross. Buffy remembered that name well, for it was permanently imprinted in her mind. Her mother and those chattering friends of hers had put away many cucumber sandwiches over that girl. Marcy had been sixteen years old when everything happened. She was…well, plain. There was nothing special about the girl with her ordinary brown hair and brown eyes and her simple jeans and T-shirts. She was neither outstanding nor failing during her time at Sunnydale High, just average. On any given day, you would have found Marcy sitting in the middle row in her classes or maybe headed off to band practice. Or perhaps she was trying to hangout with the girls who wore their pricey, tailored pants and their permed hair. But that never worked. They wouldn't even make some snide comment; they'd just ignore her. She wasn't there to them. Or to anyone else for that matter.

Nobody took the time to find out about her family but it was assumed that they were just as plain as the daughter they had produced was. All anyone knew was that one-day Marcy had stopped going to school. After nearly two months the principal had contacted her parents, not wanting to have the reputation for having kids dropping out for no reason. (Wouldn't want to smudge their unblemished record, of course. Heaven forbid…) As it turned out, Mr. and Mrs. Ross had no idea that their daughter had been skipping school.

Buffy could still hear the sound of her mother making those appropriate clucking sounds of disappointment as the women recapped for nearly the tenth time how Marcy had admitted that she had gotten herself pregnant. And Buffy, little second grade Buffy, had also felt dismayed at the girl. That was disgusting! She was sixteen! And the worst part was that Marcy couldn't even recall who had impregnated her. In the back of her mind, Buffy had also wondered who on Earth would want someone like plain old Marcy Ross…?

Now things were different and Buffy felt an odd sense of connection to the girl that she had heard being talked about oh so many times but never actually met. What had become of her anyway?

The solemn kind of reminiscence was postponed as a soft knock sounded from the door. She was only vaguely surprised to see her mother's head hovering at the entrance to her darkened room.

"Buffy, you should probably get to sleep soon. You should…rest."

Buffy nodded but continued to stare out the window. As silence settled upon them, she wondered why Joyce even bothered anymore. Buffy always sat there into the wee hours of the morning, until her eyelids couldn't stay open and collapsed down into restless slumber. Every night, Joyce came to the door and would tell her to get some rest. And Buffy would nod without ever saying anything, and after a few minutes her mom would leave. That was the way their lives went now.

Would tonight be any different? No reason it should be. Buffy shut her eyes in a ritualistic defeat as she heard the door shut. (Not that either ever tried to win their tired battle.) What Buffy had done had no only ruined her life but Joyce's as well. Her group of rumor-driving friends was now awkwardly silent around her now, and they had abruptly ceased their weekly quarry. Buffy had been desperately seeking that thin, thin, thin silver lining of the storming cloud that was her life. And what she had found had calmed her on a wry sort of way (though it proved no consolation to Joyce): it was times like these that you found whom your true friends were. And Buffy had them.

She rubbed her eyes, almost too tired to feel tired. And God that didn't make sense. But nothing did anymore… She had so many regrets; things she wanted to take back but couldn't. The biggest was definitely her mother. She had never meant to let her actions dump consequences on the woman who had raised her. And she wanted her mom to forgive her…or yell at her or…_something_. Anything but this. She couldn't take this.

And there was another big regret, one that ate away at her conscience everyday and would for the rest of her life. That other person who her pitiful and selfish decision had effected so deeply. Buffy knew that she should be crying right now, but she had no more tears left. She wasn't sure if the full impact had hit her yet. Everyday all she did was wake up and think, "Is this really happening? Is this really what my life is?" And the answer was always yes. Yes had a depressing finality to it. It sounded so…well, final.

Did you screw up your life? Yes. Did you know what you were doing? Yes. Did you care? Yes. Did you lie to your mom? Did you lie to your friends? Yes, yes I did. Do you feel guilty? Do you feel awful? Yes, already! So you slept with him? You slept with that man and he told you he loved you? YES! God, he told me he loved me OK! Yes! And you believed him? Yes! You're a foolish child… I know I am. You're foolish and grotesque and you ruin everything and you're too young! You are just too young! You are seventeen years old and you are too young to have this baby!

Yes.


	2. Part 2

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Part 2

Joyce stared absently at the dark liquid occupying her favorite mug. The coffee, which had long-since turned cold, wore its typical blank expression. She had been standing here, leaning on the counter, for the better part of two hours. She wasn't the type of woman who easily became lost in thought. Or she wasn't until a couple months ago, when it all started. Yes, roughly two months ago, if it had been a typical Saturday morning, Joyce would have drank her _tea_ hours ago, claiming stubbornly that she would never lay a hand on the addictive caffeine-driven drink, and would most likely be headed to brunch with "the girls." But now…now she was reduced to grieving for her now non-existent social life and pondering where she went wrong. Buffy had never been an easy child. As a baby she was loud and made a huge racket at anything that didn't go her way. Things really hadn't changed throughout her upbringing. Learning right and wrong and to always say please and thank-you hadn't lessened the never-ending flow of charisma and outgoing spunk. She was matter-of-fact and was always there when you needed someone to be tactless and just tell it like it was.

Yes, Joyce always knew that Buffy was never the go-with-the-flow kind of person but this…? Well this was just…completely…well, there weren't really any suitable words she could think of to describe her _complicated_ feelings for what her daughter had done. When she'd first found out… Well maybe she would have reacted differently if she'd heard in a somewhat different way. Of all the events in her life, that day was the one that she knew would stay the longest. Not her wedding or Buffy's birth or when her and Hank had finally decided to divorce, rather a day in mid-February that was now permanently engraved in her mind. It had been one of those days where you could practically taste the apprehension in the air and you just knew that something immense and "life-changing" was going to happen. Joyce had walked into the salon, just as she did every month, and it suddenly got way too quiet and strained. She'd taken her regular seat and picked up the new ET and started to wait, all the while ignoring the indirect glances she was receiving from everyone in the room.

After what seemed like eternity of waiting with stares, brushing with stares, cutting with stares, dying with stares, tin-removing with stares, washing with stares and finally drying with stares, Joyce had thrown all reasonable thoughts out the window and was ready to do a great impression of Mike Tyson. She practically fled the hairdresser, trying to escape the twenty pairs of eyes that followed her.

The second she stepped through her front door, she had the phone in hand and was in the process of calling her best friend, demanding to know what was going on. The woman had come over, and after a reluctant period of Joyce almost begging to be told why people were acting this way, Jenny had finally given in and guardedly admitting that there were certain rumors going around about a certain daughter.

Joyce shuddered little as she thought about what had happened that night. For the entire day she had refused to acknowledge what she'd been told, and Buffy, who had been oddly quiet for the past few weeks, noticed that her mom was acting _way_ cheerful and openly fake. As the night progressed, Joyce had finally gone out her mind with uncertain anxiety and had basically cornered Buffy with what Jenny had said. And after roughly a half an hour of her screaming out how she discovered the truth because Buffy's doctor's sister-in-law had been at the office while Buffy was having an appointment and she, eager to gain social expectance, had gone and squealed to Carla Chase, who had in turn told her all her little society-elite friends about it and they had each told their friends who had told their friends… And so the town knew. They _all _knew. Buffy Summers, junior at Sunnydale High, was pregnant. _And_ that she didn't (supposedly) know who the father was, on top of all that.

And now Joyce was here, hoping – _praying_ – that some sort of miracle would happen and she would wake up covered in sweat and know that it was all just a nightmare. And she would go tell Buffy, who was still in school and not sporting a significant bulge on her normally flat stomach, and they would be able to laugh together before Buffy went off to go see a movie with friends. So far that hadn't happened.

Joyce's head rose reluctantly as she heard a knock on the door. She pulled herself off the counter and on the way out, dumped the full cup of coffee in the sink. It didn't do any good anyway…

"Jenny." She forced a smile as she admitted her in. The two of them had known each other since before Buffy had been born. Hank Summers and Rupert Giles had been friends in college, and one Christmas, Hank had brought Giles back to Sunnydale to visit. That was where him and Jenny had met, fallen in love and proceeded to marry and buy a house. Though Buffy had parents, the couple was like a second family, and their support had never wavered throughout all this.

Jenny gave her a smile that Joyce knew was supposed to be comforting but all she could see was sympathy. After exchanging a quick hand squeeze, she asked, "How are you?"

Joyce tried to laugh but only it came out as more of a small sob. She shook her head. "I've had better days."

"And Buffy?"

Again, Joyce shook her head, a motion that she'd been doing more and more often lately. "I don't even know. I know I should be doing something differently and that I'm being a horrible mother, but every time I look at her…" A shudder worked itself through her body and she realized what she was saying.

"What?" Jenny prompted, though she was fairly sure she knew was going through the woman's mind. "You what?"

Joyce looked up at her, a strained expression on her face. "I feel…I feel disgusted. My daughter is seventeen and she went of and got herself pregnant. She has nice friends, Jenny. They're nice and they're all close. And Buffy…Buffy's…_good_. This isn't like her."

"You've said that before," Jenny said quietly, "but maybe it is. You need to talk to her. It's been months and all you can say to me is that Buffy would never do anything like this, yet you haven't even talked to her about what actually happened. Have you even tried?"

"Yes." Pause. "No. I can't."

"That's not the problem. You _have_ to because you're her mother. You can't just ignore this. It's not just going to go away."

Joyce ran her fingers laggardly across her face and shut her eyes unwaveringly. When they were slowly reopened, she nodded and a small "I know" was heard.

Jenny studied her face for a few prolonged moments, considering whether or not to say more. She felt an overwhelming sense of protectiveness to Buffy Summers and sometimes wanted to just take action and get to the bottom of this whole…ordeal. But she half-heartedly convinced herself that that wasn't her place; it was Joyce's. She shouldn't try to overstep her relationship with either of them. She reached into the bag on her shoulder and pulled out a folder. "I brought Buffy's work. I just have to go over a project for her English class."

Joyce nodded wordlessly, motioning her head towards the stairs. Jenny stood there for another minute but when she could find nothing more to say, she turned around and left Joyce standing in the hall, a lost expression on her face.

"Knock, knock."

Buffy looked up from her seat on the bed and was surprised when she actually felt some happiness wiggle its way into her system. "Hi, Jenny."

The woman smiled generously as she scooted next to her. "How you doing?" Buffy gave her a pensive smile and shrug. "Have you seen the doctor lately?"

Despite circumstances, Buffy's eyes caught their long-lost spark for a brief flicker of time. She reached over and pulled something from her drawer. She handed the orange colored folder to Jenny and waited. Jenny gave her a slightly unsure look as she pulled out the contents. The expression, though, quickly melted away and a grin spread across her face. "Buffy…" she said, a small hint of amazement in her voice. "Wow…" In her hands were four sonograms of the baby, and she could almost unmistakably make-out its legs and head.

"I'm about three months," Buffy said softly, her eyes never leaving the pictures. She had stared at them for the past week and she still was completely blown away each time. This was _her_ baby. And it was healthy and happy and warm inside her and she was going to take care of it. Her hands subconsciously went to her abdomen, and she smiled a little, her first genuine one of the day. "I didn't think I wanted to know but…" She let out a subdued laugh and said, "I guess I haven't learned patience yet. It's a girl."

Jenny's head shot up and her eyes met Buffy's dancing ones. "It's… Buffy, that's…that's wonderful."

Buffy felt the familiar sensation of her eyes filling. They'd been doing that a lot… "I sure think so," she said at rare moment of lightheartedness, making Jenny's smile grow wider still.

They were both silent for a moment, both trying to manage their feelings about the news. Eventually, Jenny tore she eyes away from the semi-transparent sheets and carefully replaced them in their folder before handing it back to Buffy, her face still filled was pleasure. As Buffy replaced them back in their drawer, Jenny said, "As much as you know I would love to break out the chocolate and think of names with you, Snyder wants me to give this to you right away." She passed the pack of papers to her. "It's for the parents'-night."

"What?" Buffy asked, skimming though a small stack.

"Oh you know, it's the three-fourths-through-the-year-point, and he wants to show the parents that the school's actually teaching you to write stuff so everyone has to post these for the end of the months. Even the teachers…"

Buffy looked up and the corners of her mouth curved a little as Jenny sighed forlornly at thought. "What's the project?"

"Something about the best advice someone every gave you. Or maybe it was the best advice you ever gave… Anyway, it should be pretty stupid, as _always_. What is it with principals anyway?"

"No idea, but they all seem to hate me all the same so…"

"Trust me when I say, I don't think it's just you," Jenny said, her eyebrows raising with out an ounce of doubt.

"I'm sure teachers like the students that don't get themselves pregnant and drop out of school."

Jenny's demeanor changed instantly and she leaned forward, shaking her head in declination. "Buffy, no. You have to stop this. It's not helping and it's not healthy."

Buffy looked away, she eyes clinging to a piece of lint resting on the bedspread. She had become incredibly good at willing herself not to cry and this was no exception. Her eyes stung adamantly but she was indifferent and kept them open, her gaze never wavering. Jenny let out a small noise of exasperated amazement along with a disbelieving look. "Buffy, my God! Would you stop beating yourself up for two seconds and listen to what you're saying? I see you at least once a week and I see the way your eyes light up when you talk about the baby. I know you refuse to tell anyone about what happened but you can't sit there and tell me you don't want to be a mother because you would be lying."

Buffy shook her head rapidly. "N-no. Wanting this baby was never the problem. I…I screwed up my life, my mother's life, my friends…" She had opened her mouth and had begun to say 'and' but, catching herself, snapped it shut.

Jenny had seen that happen oh-so-many times and fought back a groan of frustration. She always, whether or not she realized it, held her breath when Buffy showed _actually_ emotions besides desolation, hoping that for just once she'd get everything out and just say what she had refused to expose. God, she was too stubborn…


	3. Part 3

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Part 3

Angel stepped out of the cab, breathing in deeply, trying desperately to clear his lungs of the soiled smell of the stained upholstery. He hastily handed two crisp fifty's to the driver and gave him a concise nod before grabbing his bags and steering himself towards the front door.

Once inside, he dumped his stuff down, shed his coat and headed to the kitchen for a beer. The liquid seemed to tranquilize his irritated mood, and he settled tiredly in front of the TV. God, he hated traveling. It was times like these, when he came back to a spotless house (cleaned thoroughly by maid services while he was away), tons of mail, a full message machine and no dog, that he wished he'd never taken over the company. His father had started it when he immigrated, and it almost overnight turned into a multi-million dollar corporation. The man had died nearly fifteen years ago and it was left to his only son, Angelus O'Connor. Angel had agreed to do it if he didn't have to spend every waking hour at the office, like his father had.

And so he lived in Sunnydale, doing what he loved to do: teach. He never knew why; his father had been a businessman just like his father before him. Countless numbers of his ancestors had done the same stiff old job and Angel was a history teacher. He couldn't be happier. There was just something about standing there in front of a group of young adults and educating them about what had gone on before them. And he was definitely good at it. All the millions the company wracked meant nothing to him. He was much more content with the Coolest Teacher of the Year Award than anything that the greedy people who worked for him could manage to chalk up.

But sometimes there were these so called "imperative meetings that our partners expect you to attend, Mr. O'Connor" and he was forced into getting on an overly sanitized plane and flying all the way to New York. And that was why he'd been gone for almost two months, making him very, _very _angry. Why did he care about conferences? Come on, if they go on and off for two months out of his life, then he had every right to lash out. (He had discovered that all the employees were very much afraid of him now. Probably had something to do with the fact that he given an intern a broken nose…? Hmm.)

He groaned loudly as his cell phone rang happily in his pocket. He let it go off for at least five minutes but whoever was calling so persistent that when they got the message machine, they just hung up and redialed. "What?" he finally barked into it.

"And hello to you too, Angel," a female voice replied in annoyance.

Angel sighed. "Cordelia."

"How was the trip?"

"Wonderful," he said, his sarcasm coming out wearily.

"Could we be more uninformative?"

Angel merely grunted in reply. He was not in the mood for the third degree from anyone, _especially_ his baby cousin. Er- younger cousin. Cordy was seventeen but all he could think was that she was still five years old and refusing to go to her first day of kindergarten because she wanted to stay with him. They fought a lot because he usually ended up driving all of her boyfriends away. Growling, or so he'd been told many times, wasn't very becoming (who would've thought…).

"Aren't you going to ask about me?" her voice said, hinted with a fake pout.

Angel barely held back yet another (but louder) sigh and said, "How are you, Cordelia?"

"Pretty good," she said, sounding like he'd asked with actual interest. "Yesterday, I slapped Harmony in the cafeteria because she insulted Xander's shirt, which was actually pretty cool. Harmony started _crying_. Well, actually she oinks…" Angel closed his eyes counted to ten over and over again as Cordy went on and on in his ear, accentuating his already brain-splitting headache. On any other day he would be more than happy to hear that the blond had finally fulfilled the significance of karma but right now: no. "…And then Aphordesia says, 'But I wanted to!' So Aura says, 'No I did!' And they kept it up for like, five hours and we were all like, 'Oh my God, just shut up!' But they didn't and we finally were like-"

"Cordelia."

"What?" she demanded, aggravated at the interruption. It was just getting to the good part! Didn't he have any respect?

"For the last two months, my days have been filled with having old men kiss my ass. I have just spent the last seven hours trying to get back home. On the airplane a kid threw up in the seat next to me. I'm tired. I'm hungry. I need a shower, so as much as I would like to hear about school gossip from the very second I've been gone, could we please save it for another time? Maybe the abridged version?"

Cordelia huffed indignantly. "Fine."

"Thank you. You're so kind."

"You better believe it," she said heatedly. "Fine, though. I'll tell you tomorrow. Are you coming back to school?"

"Yeah," he said, feeling twinge of contentment at the prospect. "Yeah, I'll be there."

"Good," Cordelia said, satisfied. "And just so you know, it's a good thing we're ending out conversation. I have somewhere to be, anyway."

"Is it a date?" Angel asked, his eyes narrowing as he leaned forward on the couch, listening intently.

Cordelia sighed. "No, Angel. It's not a date. I have a boyfriend who doesn't tend to do much in the buying department."

Angel froze immediately, his protective instincts taking over. "Who?"

"Xander Harris," Cordelia said, surprising even herself at the pride and happiness that filled her voice.

"What?!" Angel screeched in her ear. "What?!"

"Xander H-"

"I heard you the first time!" Angel snapped. "But I must have been mistaken because I could have sworn you just said…_Xander Harris_."

Cordelia huffed yet again and Angel could just see her crossing her arms across her chest, his words aggravating her to no end. "Yes, I'm dating Xander."

"Cor-"

"Yes, I probably have gone insane but…" She stopped for a minute, pondering whether or not to reveal her true opinion. "Well, he's…sweet. And he's funny… He's…well, he's Xander but…cute."

"Cordy…" Angel said hesitantly. "You know that I want you to be happy and that I support you in everything you do but…_Xander_? Did it have to be…him?"

"Yes, Angel, it had to be Xander."

"But…why?" Angel croaked, although he knew he was powerless against her. Cordelia was… Well, she was very…_controlling_. She was very…persistent. OK, she was damn intimidating, even to him.

"Because that's what _I _want. It's my decision who I date, sorry to tell you. And he's not you boyfriend, anyway, so you don't have to deal with it."

"And thank God for that," he muttered, noting that his convincing skills could use some serious work. He missed the days when she would just do what he said…

Cordelia sighed dramatically and said, "Well, as much as I like you insulting my other-half, I'd rather hold off on our little chat for now. I'm not going to be late because you feel like going overtime with the teasing."

It was Angel's turn to sigh, suddenly feeling wrong about what he was saying. "Look, Cordy, I'm sorry. It's just…sleep deprived and your boyfriends and…Xander all in one night is a little hard to handle. Sorry."

He could have sworn he heard her smile in self-satisfaction at his apparent "loss." "Good. You are forgiven."

"Thank you, Cordy," Angel said, slightly amused now. "So have fun…wherever you're going. Where are you going?"

"We're all going to Buffy's. Try and chocolate her out of depression."

Angel stopped. "B-Buffy? Buffy Summers?"

"Uh, do you know of any other Buffy?" Cordelia said pointedly.

Of course he didn't.

He knew of no one else with her name or her…magnetism. It was like…like when she walked into a room… Well, he had been distracted numerous times by her. He couldn't recall a time when she had not had on a luminous smile that made her whole being seem to radiate with energy, which flowed to everyone around her. He'd seen legions of students and she was one of the only ones who was genuinely nice to everybody. She always came prepared with her brilliance and sharp wit, making people young and old feel right at home. But not with him. No, whenever Angel saw or spoke to Buffy Summers his palms began to seep with sweat and his knees felt incapable of supporting even one inch of his body and he knew that one day he would just wobble and do a not-so-graceful face-plant straight into the oh-so-hard-floor.

"You're going to…" He though for a moment, before his eyes narrowed in sudden suspicion. "What do you mean…_depressed_?"

"I mean what I say: Buffy's depressed."

"Wha-?"

"Not suicidal depressed or anything," Cordelia continued, ignoring Angel while she set the record straight. If asked a year ago if she'd though she'd be defending Buffy Summers, dating her dork-friend, Xander, and sharing fashion tips with Willow Rosenburg, Sunnydale's very special nerd, then her initial reaction would probably have been to slap the person and run off to tell Harmony. But now she spent her days hanging out with the trio in the school library or on the terrace, talking about stupid things little things that had slowly begun to grow on her. And to her surprised, she was finally happy.

"What h-happened? Is she OK? Is she sick?" Angel threw out the questions left and right, much to his cousin's dislike.

"I know you haven't been around for a while but can you honestly tell me you haven't heard?" Cordelia said, genuinely shocked. Angel was supposed to be the cool teacher! How could he be cool if he didn't know all the gossip?

"No, Cordelia, I haven't. Are you going to tell me?" Angel tried to keep the growing hysteria out of his voice but it was no easy task.

"What's with you? I mean, I know you're all caring for the student or whatever but there's no need to ask like that. God…" And obviously he had failed with the hysteria thing.

"Cordy," Angel said, fighting for control of the constant shaking of his voice, "please tell me what's wrong with Buffy?"

Cordelia frowned a little. Was he…_begging_? It sure sounded like he was begging. "Angel," she said slowly, "are you OK? You don't sound…well."

"Cordy, _please_." He'd given up on holding his emotions in and was now gripping the phone with such pressure, he was sure it would snap soon.

"Uh, s-she…well, she got pregnant. And her mom isn't really speaking to her and everyone's talking about her and she had quit school. We go over there all the time to keep her company." She paused and found that Angel's tired breathing had turned to dead silence. "Listen, Angel, I have to go. Are you sure you're OK?" Silence. "Angel?"

He couldn't hear her. His body wasn't responding to anything except shock.

"Angel?"

He'd been teaching at Sunnydale High for nearly two and a half-years, and he remembered his first class like it was yesterday. He was walking down the hall, trying to put on foot in front of the other and keep going in a straight line (Nervous? Yeah), thinking so hard about not looking like a complete idiot in front of everyone when- Bam! He crashed smack dab into a petty little blond, who was focusing intently on her schedule. Both of them had dropped to their knees, hurriedly coursing out apologies and picking up her books. When he thought about it later, Angel guessed that people had looked at them like they were crazy: there they'd been, crawling around in the middle of the packed hall, dodging shoes, their heads bumping repeatedly.

"_Angel_? Are you there? Angel?"

"Bye, Cordy." His voice sounded hollowed in his own ears as he disregarded Cordelia's protests and cut the connection.

It was amazing how many things you noticed when you were just staring at a wall. Angel could see a tiny crack in the otherwise impeccable cream-colored paint and made an absent mental reminder to cover it. For the first time he heard the perpetual sound of the clock on the shelf, warning him that he was just sitting around when he had things to do. But for that he didn't care.

There were innumerable reactions that he could – _should _– be having to the rather _unexpected _news. He knew that the preferred one he _should_ be having would be that of her history teacher, the one that went something like this: "Oh, dear, she did have so much potential. It's just a shame she threw her entire life away. Teen-motherhood is just a sad, sad thing to have happen to a bright girl like herself. It's a darn shame…"

But that didn't even begin to creep across his mind. So there were two options left for him. As the weight of this finally hit him, he caved over and laid his head down in his hands and shut his eyes, blocking out the world and giving in to exhaustion.


	4. Part 4

****

Part 4

Waking up was always the hardest part of the day. Buffy used to have to get up at seven for school (which really meant seven forty-five and rushing). She would moan and groan her way through her alarm clock before her mom came in and demanded that she "get out of bed right now!" And after repeating that action a couple of times, all the while with Joyce getting more and more galled, she would finally succumb and crawl uneagerly out of bed, dragging the blankets with her across the floor. And when Buffy had gone down to eat her customary breakfast of a donut (much to the distress of Mommy), Joyce would go into her room and make the bed. She was a perfectionist in every sense of the word and couldn't have one _tiny_ thing out of place.

Buffy had been awake now for nearly a half an hour. She lay in bed, however, and didn't open her eyes. She knew that if she did, then she would have to face the day. The sun winked over her lids, trying as it did every morning to make her get up. Judging from how bright it was, Buffy guessed it was about nine. Nine o'clock on a Wednesday morning. First period. Science. God, she missed school! She actually wanted to get up and scramble around pointlessly before her mom yelled at her for not eating healthy and stuffed her in the car for their annual morning lecture. But her alarm had been quiet for eons and she had no motive to turn it back on just so she could sleep over it. That didn't mean she didn't want to. Because she did.

"Is she awake?"

Buffy's eyes finally decided to peek out and the second she did, she wished she hadn't. It wasn't that she didn't enjoy when they visited (which they did, without fail, everyday), it was just… Well, the only reason they did was because they felt like they were obligated to come. They had tried to convince her countless times that she was their friend and that was why they came. It had nothing to do with pity. But sometimes she didn't know.

"Of course she is," Cordelia said with a dismissive tone, brushing off Willow's question. "Buffy, time to get out of that bed."

"Cordy," Xander reproved, "maybe we should just let her sleep. She needs her rest."

"Oh please. We've been over this many times. Buffy sleeps too much. Buffy, rise and shine."

This was now her familiar morning routine. Why they came over _every_ morning on their way to school, she didn't know but guessed it had something to do with the fact that they were slightly worried she just would just stay in bed all day and rot. Which, come to think of it, she probably would…

Willow sat down next on the bed as Buffy shifted into a sitting position. "Hi. How ya doing?"

Buffy constrained a somewhat believable smile (which didn't fool any one of them for a second).

"Any weird cravings yet?" Xander asked, eager to provide assistance in the one thing he knew best.

Cordy rolled her eyes in an exaggerated fashion. "My God, Xander, is that all you think about? Sex and food?"

Xander gave her an irked look but decided not to follow-up on the question, which Buffy didn't really seem to hear. She wasn't in the room with them. She never was. She could look them in the eye and yet at the same time be a million miles away. But they came to see her regardless, ignoring the fact that she was like someone who had fallen into a coma.

"Look at this, Buffy," Willow said, trying (as always) to engage her. She reached into her backpack and pulled out a dark brown box and plopped in down on the bed. "It's candy and Snyder's _making_ us sell it for the _band_. Can you believe that?"

Xander shook his head. "I still stick by my outlook on this whole thing: he can't make us!"

Cordy rolled her eyes at his expectant grin and not-very-clever point. She turned to Buffy, who had long since become a spectator of the once lively conversations, and said, "_Anyway_, we have to sell all these by next week or _else_. Whatever."

"Cordelia," Willow said resentfully, "next week as in three days from now. Nobody's buying them! We're going to end up buying three hundred dollars worth or chocolate bars! We're desperate here!"

"Hey, Buff," Xander said, tone casual, "you wouldn't happen to have a few extra C notes lying around somewhere, now would ya?"

"Xander, for goodness sake," Cordy hushed. "Don't beg off a pregnant woman! Have you no shame? And besides, I already got someone to buy them from us."

"What? How?" Willow looked sharply at the other girl, her eyes demanding to be told why she hadn't been informed.

"Oh, did I not tell you guys? Oops. Oh well, know ya know. And it's not that big of a deal. I mean, he's rich so what's three hundred bucks to him anyway. Come to think of it, we could get more candy and then sell more and then maybe, just maybe, Snyder will welcome us with open arms…"

"Don't you mean the band will welcome us with their maracas, Cor?" Xander prodded pointedly. "And who in their right mind would want those hats anyway?"

"That coming from the person who wears seventies hula shirts to school everyday," Cordy shot back, wondering why she was defending the stupid band. Well, anything to fight with her boyfriends. Hmm…boyfriend…yay…

Xander gave her a hurt look and glanced down at his attire. "Fine…"

Willow let out a rushed sigh, a sure sign of her growing impatience. "Would you guys stop acting like fifth graders-"

Xander: "Hey! Fifth was my best year!"

Cordelia: "Sure it was."

"-and concentrate at the pressing matter at hand!"

"What matter?" Cordelia asked blankly.

Willow, who was growing more and more the color of the hair by the second, gave a withering look and said, "Our donator! Our buyer! Hello!"

"Oh, that again." Cordy sighed, not understanding why Willow thought sell band-candy was going to make or break her academic career. "I got Angel to do it."

Buffy had been silently sitting there while they talked (er- argued). She always did. It was so hard to believe that a couple months ago she was the biggest contributor to whatever the topic was. She felt more and more useless as each day passed. All she could do while they talked was listen. She now had denounced the expression about being a fly on the wall. 'Cause it was _way_ overrated. On an average day, she would say yes or no a few times and managed a few appropriate grunts and nods, but never said anything unless she was asked something.

That was why her three friends were quiet with shock for a moment when they heard her…speak…? "Ang- M-Mr. O'Connor's…b-back?"

"What?" Willow whispered, in almost fascination. "Did you…s-say something?"

Buffy swallowed at the odd attention she was receiving from them. She felt trapped and unable breathe regularly. She was pinned-in inside her own room. "Is he back?" she asked, her voice scratchy and unsteady.

"Yes," Cordy said, the first to snap out of it. "He's back and oh my God, you just said something out of your own free will! Progress!"

The room instantly erupted with congratulations and "yay Buffy"! If someone were to walk in, they would probably feel dumb for forgetting to bring their pom-poms, body-paint and beer. It was like the twilight zone and Buffy was still suffocating. God, they were surrounding her! She had to move…had to get out. Their arms were too close to her; everything was too warm. She could hear their happy voices but the words swirled together and her brain muddled the sound. She could feel their breath on her face as they simultaneously embraced her, and she needed too breathe. She couldn't breathe! Her head was spinning and she felt a sour taste rise dangerously in her throat. Cordelia let out one final laugh and Buffy pushed her way through them as she felt her insides give way to nausea.

~~~

"Mr. Harris, would you care to explain to me why you're a half an hour late to class?"

Xander subconsciously shuddered. Two reasons: one, because the man scared that shit out of him. OK, so he was Cordy's cousin. So what? He was scary as hell and made Xander feel the need to flashback to second grade when he'd peed in his pants because some bully called him a chicken. Boy, was that man terrifying. But anyway: The other reason for his shudder was another recap; this time, it was of that morning. "Well, Mr. O'Connor, I went to a friend's house and she…got a little sick. We had to take her to the hospital."

Angel felt his entire body tense. His thoughts immediately went to the girl who had been on the surface of his mind for the past few days, ever since he'd gotten home. He couldn't even formulate the thought that she could be hurt. But he couldn't just ask Xander Harris, of all people, if it was _her_, so instead he went the safe way out:

"Is it Cordelia?" She was a secure way of getting answers. He felt slightly guilty for always using her, but he had to come across as a family kind of guy (which he was). He had to know.

"No. It was Buffy Summers," Xander said with a shake of his head, mentally cringing at how drastically his girlfriend had flipped out when Buffy passed-out.

Despite the panic that had instantly taken over his body, Angel still heard the inflamed murmur that washed through the classroom. He couldn't decide whether to issue them all a month of detention for daring to gossip about Buffy or to sprint out of the room and run randomly around town until her found her. But alas, he did neither. Instead, he gripped the edge of his desk restraining himself from going insane with despair and managed to say, more to himself than anyone else, "Well, I-I'm sure Miss Summers will be fine." After a not-at-all calming breath, he grabbed a book and practically ripped out all the pages. "Please open your text to page two-seventy-seven."

~~~

Everything was so white. The walls, the sheets, the machines… God even the people looked white; like ghosts. The lights were so bright as they glared hatefully at her, and again she felt like she was trapped. It might have been the lights. They seemed to say, 'Move and I'll get you.' That was what petrified her most about hospitals: the white rooms and the lights that came in them. They had her hooked her up to a machine that beeped and beeped and beeped and beeped and wouldn't stop beeping. She had been listening to just that monitor for the entire day and, had she not been so tired, she would have gone completely out of her mind. But she was just too tired…so tired…

The door opened and a bolt of voices rushed in.

"Well, Buffy, you're looking much better." The doctor smiled encouragingly at her as he took a seat in the chair next to the metal bed. "How do you feel?"

"I-" She coughed a little as she voice came out hoarse. "I'm feeling…better."

"Excellent. So, I've consulted your report and you're mother and decided to keep you here for the night. It's just so we can monitor your condition but you'll be able to go home tomorrow morning. Now…" He glanced down at the files in his hands. "Did Dr. Taft explain to you what happened?"

"H-he did but I don't think it was English."

The doctor laughed like it was the funniest thing he'd ever heard before saying, "Well, then allow me to reiterate. Due to the…stress you seemed to be undergoing, the fetus was effected in similar ways and…well, I suppose you could say it retaliated." Off Buffy's utterly blank look, he said, "Not too severe but… Buffy, you're going to have a baby."

"Uh…I-I know?"

The doctor shook his head. "That's not what I mean. You're going to a have a baby. You have to take care of it. And in order to that you have to take care of yourself." He held her eyes until she looked away. "Your mineral count is very low. No enough iron, not enough protein…you need more vitamins of every kind. Buffy, you _need_ them. I hate to be harsh but if you continue to neglect your body, you're going to lose your baby."

If time could stop, it would have done in there. The doctor watched as the blonde's eyes clouded over with pain. She pressed her hands earnestly against her abdomen and tried not to cry out at the notion that she was killing her daughter.

"Do you understand what I'm saying, Buffy?"

She looked up at the doctor and for the first time, she really looked. She met his eyes and nodded briskly, as if a large burst of energy forced it's way into her body. "I understand."


	5. Part 5

****

Part 5

It's amazing, the things you remember. Sometimes Angel couldn't even remember what he had eaten for dinner the previous night or his friend's birthday. He could never remember what time his meeting was when his secretary had reminded him virtually ten minutes ago, yet he could still feel…her. He could feel her skin against his, and if he closed his eyes, he could see her staring up at him, her eyes boundless as they bore into his. He shivered because she was dragging a path with the very tips of her fingers across his back. His arms still ached for he had held himself up because…he could never hurt her. Not ever. If he ran his tongue across his lips, he savored her distinct taste, and he breathed in her fragrance that never ceased to make him feel irrational and utterly bewildered. His head was overflowing with her, and nothing could fill the painful gap in his heart.

Angel twisted around in bed for the billionth time that night. Glancing at the clock, he wondered how he was going to survive the night without screaming. He got out of bed and stalked out of his bedroom. He gulped down a glass of water and stood there staring into his bathroom mirror, his eyes full of self-loathing. The words 'What have I done' nagged at his brain and he still couldn't find the answer. God, he didn't know! He didn't know anything! Had she…no. He clenched onto the glass and was sure in would implode if he didn't release his death grip. His hand cramped up but he still wouldn't let go. What had he done! This wasn't what he did!

He pulled his arms back and flung the glass against the mirror. The jagged pieces few in every direction and he doubtlessly couldn't have cared less when they slashed cruelly across his face. One of them could have landed in his eye and he probably wouldn't have made any move to remove it. Angel looked up into the destroyed, fragmented mirror and at his damaged face. His chest heaved up and down and his whole being was trembling with a composite of so many emotions what even he couldn't even begin to untangle from his mind.

He was cursed. And it was all his fault.

~~~

Buffy stared callously at the scene spread before her. For the past three hours she had seriously become confident that she really had gone crazy. Those two days in the hospital most have gotten to her more than she thought…

She grabbed a carrot and hurriedly stuffed it in her mouth. After washing it down with a gulp of milk, she took a large bite out of her apple and crunched. And the cycle continued of her cramming herself with the healthiest food she could dig up. As she took a swig of her orange juice, she noted morosely she'd gone so overboard with the doctor's advice that she was positive she had never scared herself as much as she was doing now.

The doorbell chimed from the hall, and the prospect of standing up when she infused herself with so much food was kind of distressing. But whomever it was waited not even ten seconds before ringing again. Mourning her poor stomach, which carried far too much than its purpose was, Buffy hobbled over to the door and opened it. When she saw who it was, she mouth parted slightly and her jaw went slack.

"Daddy?"

Hank Summers' beamed at her, and she was almost positive that there was a hint of tears gathering in his eyes. "Hi, honey."

"Daddy? W-what are you…? Why are you…? Hi."

The man smiled a little. "Mind if I come in?"

Buffy hastily admitted him in and they headed silently to the kitchen.

Hank raised a delving eyebrow at her when he caught side of the mass of food. "Preparing for a marathon?"

Buffy reddened as her father took a stool next to the never-ending sea of health food and supplements. "You could say that." At the wave of his arm, Buffy too was seated and a rigid stillness settled that had her shifted on her chair.

"Well…" Hank began, his tone that of one that was really trying to lighten the atmosphere. "I guess you're wondering why I'm here, huh?"

"It had crossed my mind."

"Well, I…I was wondering in you wanted to spend some time with me. In LA. Like…visit."

Buffy met his eyes, gauging his understanding of the situation. "Uh…I-I don't think I can. I mean…I'd like to but…you see, I have this thing…well, its not really a thing its…never-mind. I can't." 

"If it's because of the baby, trust me, I wouldn't be keeping you away from your home for too long."

Buffy's eyes swelled in shock. That was certainly the last thing she'd expected to hear. This day was getting weirder and weirder… "You know… How do you know…?"

"Your mother called me a couple days ago and told me about…what happened," Hank said and Buffy averted her eyes.

"You must be so disappointed," she murmured, more to herself than to him.

"No, Buffy. I'm not. You're my daughter and well, even though I'm not particularly good at showing it, I do love you."

"How can you say that?" Her eyes were filled to the brim with tears of pure self-hatred and disgust. "How can you…" Her voice fluctuated dangerously and she swallowed. "How can you say that when you know what I did? This entire town is completely repulsed by me and I don't blame them."

"I could never be repulsed by you. Never."

Buffy an almost microscopic laugh and said, "That's not how Mom feels."

"Buffy, I'm sure your mother doesn't think that."

"Well, you sure haven't been around so how would you know?" Buffy snapped. As Hank sunk back a little, the spirited look gone from his face. Buffy closed he eyes momentarily as she blamed her hormones. "Sorry. I…I'm sorry."

He gave her a regretful smile and said, "You're not wrong about that. I haven't seen you in…God, almost two years. I'm the one who should be apologizing, not you."

"It's not your fault," she dismissed, not exactly interested in his remorse right now. Hormones, she noted again with a mental nod. This conversation was starting to very similarly parallel the one she'd craved for so long. "You have to work a lot. I understand."

"That's no excuse. I should have at least called."

Buffy met his eyes deliberately and hesitantly asked, "Did you want to? Did you just not have time?"

Hank rubbed her eyes ruefully and shook his head. "I don't know, Buffy. It's just… I remember a time when we used to be really close. Yes, I wanted to call you but…every time I picked up the phone, all I could think about was the time and space that separated us. And so I didn't call. I felt like I couldn't be in your life because…you don't deserve a father like me. I'm no example, and I didn't want to get in the way."

"Then why are you here now?" Despite the simmering resentment at his confession, she held no anger in her tone; she merely wanted to know.

"I want to make things right. I know it'll be hard but… I think we can make things different than they are now."

"I'd like that."


	6. Part 6

****

Part 6

"Everything looks so different."

Hank smiled and nodded. "Things change fast in this city."

"I had forgotten," Buffy said. They were seated at a small café, enjoying one of those dainty sort of lunches where all the woman wear expensive, cream colored suits along with Gucci sunglasses and Prada purses. Buffy felt like she was being entirely bombarded by waves of Caesar salad and mineral water. LA was a complete one-eighty from Sunnydale, and it was hard to believe she used to call it home.

When she was younger, Buffy had sworn to herself that she would never, _ever_ leave LA; it was the city where she belonged. She wanted to grow-up there and get married there and start her own life there. Instead she moved, and even though she'd only been gone a couple of years (nothing compared to the time she'd spent here before), she felt utterly strange and out of place.

"So, Buffy, tell me about what you've been up to lately." The look on Hank's face told her that he was genuinely interested, which made it all the harder to tell him the truth.

"W-well, I've been working really hard with my school work. I'm trying to graduate early so that's really all I have time for. I think that not going to school for a while has really helped me academically." She finished with an honest nod and waited for her dad's reaction to her I'm-trying-to-make-my-life-sound-better-than-it-really-is speech.

And it worked. Hank beamed at her, so proud that she was going to be ahead of the class. "That's wonderful, honey. You should be very pleased."

Buffy had to restrain herself from rolling her eyes. She'd been the talk of the town for months. Her mother had practically shunned her. How could she possibly be happy?

"How's the baby doing?" he asked next.

Buffy shifted in her seat, the back of her brain relentlessly forsaking the question. What was she supposed to say? Tell him about how the doctor told her she was practically killing it? "Fine. She's fine."

Hank eyes nearly popped out of his head in delight. "It's a girl? Oh, Buffy that wonderful! Are you glad?"

Buffy couldn't impede the smile that snuck onto her face. "I am."

More beaming, followed by a quick hug and beaming. It almost made Buffy's day.

~~~

"Would you like something to drink? Coffee? Tea? Soda? Scotch?"

"No thank you. I'm fine."

Hank nodded and poured himself some decaffeinated-tea, which he had started drinking since Buffy had convinced him to stop the coffee (with massive amounts of caffeine) intake. That little conversation had taken place seven years ago and yet he still drank tea everyday.

He always became irrationally annoyed at those who didn't drink. Couldn't they just accept just for the heck of it? After talking, who didn't want some water? They were all just too polite and stiff for his taste.

They were sitting in his home office, which looked more like a conference room than anything. Hank hated having to drive all the way to his office in the city for a meeting so he just invited the people to his house. He found that it made him more relaxed and the people more agreeable and civilized, promoting negotiations and deals.

"Thank you for driving all the way out here. I know it was probably not on your agenda to go all the way to my home for our meeting."

The other man nodded and said, "It's a Saturday; who wants to go into the office?"

Hank smiled knowingly and took a seat across the table. Taking out his many folders, he scanned them over before saying, "So, you have hired Lindsay McDonald, correct?" When he received a curt nod, Hank scratched his head and said, "I would just like to warn you that he has done nothing for my company when he was employed there. I just wonder, as you've probably already guessed, what you're motives are for hiring him, even after we dismissed him."

"I don't feel it's necessary to explain our reasoning for that. Mr. McDonald has so far shown that he is a hard-working, devoted man, and until I see otherwise, I intend to give him the benefit of the doubt."

Hank considered him for a moment. "I see. Well, I can only hope that you had no desire to use him to find out information on us. It is no secret that our two associations are somewhat unfriendly with each other."

"No, Mr. Summers, it's no secret. I have no intention of letting things become ugly. There is no need or time for that, and I hope you will agree."

"Indeed, of course," Hank said quickly, trying hard not to become agitated by the other man. They both owned the two biggest companies in the country and this was the first time they'd come face-to-face. He couldn't help being a tiny bit intimidated by the tall man in front of him. It was no wonder he won so many cases, he was positively frightening in all the right ways. He knew how to throw his opponents off and take advantage of their hesitation.

The only reason they were meeting was because Hank had recently found out that his opposition had hired Lindsay McDonald, a lawyer he'd fired. Suspicions had immediately been aroused about the reasoning behind that decision, and when he found out the Lindsay's employer lived near to LA, he seized the opportunity to finally meet him.

"Well, I suppose if we are both in understanding, our meeting is concluded."

Hank nodded and stood hastily, mirroring the younger man's action. They shook hands firmly, leaving no room for discussion. He smiled courteously and said, "It was very good to finally meet you. Thank you for coming on such short notice."

Hank received another nod in return as the man headed out. When the door was finally closed, he slumped into a chair, ready to fall over from the accumulated fear of meeting someone he'd only just exchanged messages through lawyers and secretaries. Man, that guy was scary.

~~~

"How is it?"

"It's good."

"_Just _good? This used to be your favorite dish."

Buffy glanced up from her dinner at her father and graced him with the hint of a smile. "I know. I'm just tired."

"Are you sure that's all?" Hank asked. "You look upset."

"It's nothing, really. Just stress and stuff."

Hank nodded, unconvinced, but dropped it. "Well, that makes the both of us. I had the shortest, but probably most stressful meeting of my life today. Have I even told you about that company that, well, I guess rivals ours?" Buffy nodded. She'd heard her all too many times about that stupid company from her dad. He talked about it all the time; about how rich it was and how powerful it was and how one day he knew it would take over his own. Buffy had never been particularly interested in business so she never really paid all the much attention when he started up about either company.

"Well, today," Hank continued, "the owner of it came to the house to discuss a lawyer they'd hired even after we'd fired him. I had expected it to last a long time and for us to write up an actual legal document or contract of some sort. But no. This guy is damn efficient or something. Ten minutes total. No document. Anyway, so I finally met the man and let me tell you, he scares even me. I mean, he actually looked young and here I was, shivering in my seat…"

Buffy only half listened as Hank continued about his interaction with "the enemy." Her stomach really wasn't processing food the right way and she didn't really want to have to huge amounts of morning sickness the next day. Her father had prepared this huge meal for them, and she'd merely pushed her food around her plate the entire time.

"Daddy," she said, "I'm kinda tired. Would you mind if I went to bed now? I know we were going to do bonding time but…"

Hank stood instantly and said, "Oh, we can do that another time. You should get some sleep if you need. Of course. Do you want me to walk you up?"

"No, I'm fine. Thank you for dinner. It was really good."

"Goodnight, Buffy."

"Goodnight."

Buffy tiredly rinsed off her plate before heading down the hall and to the stairs. She walked past vast rooms she had never even been in and just as she was nearing the other hall, she stopped. Something. Something was…she could sense…something. She turned and abruptly went into the nearest room. What she saw made her blood race and slow at the same time. It sat alone on the chair, perfectly in place in the darkened conference room. Images of the past unwittingly flashed across Buffy's eyes, as she stood stationary at the door. Somehow, though it must have taken at least twenty minutes, she found her legs were able to move. And they did, taking tiny, shaky steps. But the turtle finally reached the finish line. Buffy stared at the chair, her eyes stinging relentlessly.

It wasn't until she ran the tips of her fingers over it that she realized that it really was there; she hadn't been dreaming. And if it was here, then that meant…oh God. As her vision began to blur, her hand closed around the material and she choked back a cry. As the world began to spin, she put her hand over her mouth so she wouldn't throw-up. Her stomach, though it was empty, had never felt so nauseous. How she made it to the bathroom, she didn't know. But she found herself curved over the toilet as she insides gave way. Her body kept pushing for more but her stomach had nothing left to give. She collapsed across the porcelain rim, coughing with an impotent lack of strength, unable to will herself to move.


	7. Part 7

****

Part 7

Hank was puttering around the house. It was usually an unusual occurrence for him, but he enjoyed playing Father again. It was the best decision he'd ever made when he'd decided to rekindle his relationship with Buffy. He was also happy that she seemed to be getting out a little more each day. It had definitely scared him at first; he had never known Buffy to be a quiet, almost feeble person, but when she first walked through his door, the way she looked around made her look so lost and helpless that it was completely the opposite of what Hank remembered. And he felt guilty for that. Something huge had happened to her, something that would effect her for the rest of her life and he hadn't been there for her.

But now he was.

Hank took a swig of his morning tea and sat down with the paper. Skimming over the front page, he flipped, as usual, to the business section. After checking some stocks and reports, he stopped. Why did he always do that? Was he that obsessed with his work? Yes, he thought with a sigh. There had been a time when family and friends had been his first priority, and now look: he hadn't seen his own daughter for nearly two years and had been the last to know that she was going to be a mother. He wondered in the back of his mind that if they had stayed close, Buffy never would have gotten pregnant. He knew it was an irrational thought but if they'd just talked more often…maybe she would have told him something… But they would never know.

He turned to the sports section, and a smile spread across his face. Here we go.

A knock sounded and, pausing reluctantly from his old-new-found bout of newspaper happiness, he went to answer it. And he nearly dropped his tea at the sight.

"Hello, Mr. Summers. May I come in?"

Hank hurriedly stepped back, straightening his clothes a little (or, as best as someone could do with tea). Don't look flustered! he ordered.

"I'm sorry to come by without warning but I didn't want to call you late last night so I though I'd take my chances."

"Oh, no," Hank said quickly. "It's quite all right. What can I do for you?"

"Nothing business. I actually just left my jacket in your office yesterday."

"Oh!" Hank nodded and ushered him upstairs. "Right this way…" His words died on his lips as they entered the room. Nothing there. "Um, are you sure you left it here?"

"I believe."

"Well, we have a maid who tends to pick things up. I would be happy to call her and ask."

"If it's not too much trouble."

"Oh, not at all. Will you excuse me for a moment?" Hank nodded to the other man, still a bit wary of him, and went down to another hall to another section of the house. He was all too eager to get away from Scrooge…er- the man who could ruin his company (and life) at any given moment. Needless to say, it was very nerve wracking having him around. He was _definitely_ Scrooge-like. Scary, a little evil. Not someone you'd like to upset.

Scrooge glanced laxly around the expensively furnished office, wondering what kind of a man would devote so much time and energy into a company. He knew plenty about Hank Summers and knew that he lived alone at age fifty-three. Shouldn't he have some kind of a family? Here he was, living in this huge house, with no one to share anything with, no one to come home to after a long day.

It was ironic to be criticizing Hank when he himself lived largely the same way. But it didn't mean he didn't want a family. He did. He just…it just wouldn't work.

He wandered into the hall, trying to act like he was just casually looking around, when really he wanted to know more about how Hank lived his life. He seemed like a happy person, but how could anyone be in they were this lonely?

All the doors along this hall with open all the way, just inviting him to peek in. So he did. With quiet footsteps, the man made his way down the corridor and to the first door. It was furnished with various office furniture and had large windows overlooking the gardens. A private office, he assumed. Wouldn't want to be caught snooping around in there. The next room was entirely un-business related: it was basically a game room. It had all kinds of the newest, most high-tech electronics. He smirked a little to himself, finally discovering how Hank Summers got his kicks.

He passed two more room – one a library and one that looked very much like a trophy room, though he wasn't sure what for – and headed down the next hall right into his first closed door. Here's where the adrenaline kicked in. He couldn't believe he was doing this but it had all fit so perfectly: he hadn't even meant to forget his jacket and now, if he were caught, Hank would definitely think it was all on purpose. Just what he needed.

He opened the door, his curiosity taking over all rational thinking he might have been having. He had expected a tiny room with stacks of paper to the ceiling and tons of shredders, chomping away at documents Hank wanted gone. But that's not what was in this room. He found his jacket. It was lying on the bed, wrapped around the shoulders of a tiny blond girl. Her breaths were even but small, telling him she was asleep. The room that was obviously hers was huge and she looked almost miniscule in comparison.

He stared at the scene in blatant shock, not understanding what was going on. The lustrous splay of youthful, blond hair vividly contrasted the darkness of his jacket. The girl obviously lived here, and he surmised that she was Hank's daughter. Nowhere had he found any record that he had any children. How was that possible? The company had come up with everything on the man and somehow had missed the fact that he had an almost grown daughter? He needed to see it coming but now here he stood, shaken to the core, standing in front of someone's bed, someone he most definitely had seen before. It had been months but still the mere sight of her sent him spiraling dangerously out of control. He could see her face pressed gently to the pillow, her delicate features in a slightly worried frown; her eyes closed with a look of concentration. He felt himself break, his business front diminishing in an instant. If he hadn't been in Hank Summers' house he would have most certainly broken down. He hadn't seen… God, it really was her.

"Mr. O'Connor…?"

Angel spun around to see Hank Summers standing behind him.

"Can I help you with something here?" Hank asked, his voice hesitant and unsure. What was he doing outside of this door?

"I-I'm sorry. I…well, I thought…I went to…I was just…" Angel swallowed, and for the first time he felt unlike an equal or opponent but as a man, standing in front of another man, finally realizing who had more power. And he wasn't the one. Angel had definitely underestimated the full extent of Hank's authority until this moment. "I found my jacket."

Hank glanced past him into the bedroom. "What…?" He too stared at the girl in surprise, who lay curled up in a tight, almost frightened sleeping position. "I…well, I don't know what to say… I…" He blinked heavily, as if his eyes might be deceiving him at the sight before. Nope.

"Is this…is this your daughter?" Angel asked, trying to abate the feeling that he was shrinking.

"Yes," Hank said a little slowly, almost reluctantly to reveal the information. "She's visiting for a while."

"I…didn't know you had one." Angel's eyes drifted back to the girl on the bed.

Hank leaned over and silently shut the door before motioning shortly with his head. He took a shaky breath and faced Angel. "Mr. O'Connor, I have always made sure that my family is well taken care of. I have done a meticulous and careful job at hiding the fact that I have a daughter or ex-wife because of their safety. I don't need to tell you about the dangers they face. Our jobs take a toll on both us and the ones we care about. People sometimes take advantage of them to get what they want, and I don't want that for my daughter. I need to protect her. I hope you understand that." The two met each other's eyes, Hank's boring into Angel's, needing to see what kind of a man the younger one truly was.

"I understand."

"Good." Hank sighed a little and glanced back at the door, which concealed the most important thing to him. "I don't know why she had your jacket. Teenaged girls and leather, I suppose. I'll go in and get it."

"Don't," Angel said quickly. "I… you don't have to wake her up."

"Are you sure? I mean, you came all this way… I'll wake her up." The second Hank started for the door, he was stopped by a wall of a body, which had stepped in front of him.

"It's just a jacket," Angel said, his voice quiet.

Hank seemed to accept and be grateful for it so he stepped back and nodded. "Thank you. And I _am_ sorry that you had to drive all the way out here."

"It's all right. I don't mind driving."

When the two men finally reached the front door, Hank was the one who extended his hand first, initiating the handshake. He noticed the other man's grip was not as confident, not as firm, and for the first time, Angel could had been caught looking shaken.


	8. Part 8

****

Part 8

Buffy liked a party as much as the next person but this was just too much. In the last hour only, at least a hundred people had already come over to have a conversation with the boss' very irritated daughter. Office parties suck. Everyone was so phony that Buffy was about to go completely out of her mind with misery. This was definitely migraine worthy.

She hung back by the couches, trying to reject attention. Maybe people would get the message and see she wasn't exactly in the mood to talk about life and "So, Buffy, what do you want to be when you grow up? Lawyer like your father?" And to make things even worse, Hank had apparently not been lying when he'd said he was happy about Buffy's pregnancy because the entire party knew about it. Flocks of women had come up and done their stupid gushing routine to her about how very happy they were to hear the exciting news. Buffy was _sure_ it had nothing to do with the fact that her father controlled almost half of the Los Angeles' lawyers and their general income. She felt so cheated when people acted that way because of money; it was one of the most superficial things anyone could do.

"Are you having fun, Buffy?"

Buffy glanced up from her glass as Hank strolled over to her, full smile adorning his face. She managed to put one on as well, not wanting to crush him with the truth yet again. "Yeah. Great party."

"I'm glad," Hank said. "So, you've met a lot of people from my office?"

"Yep. I've met…yeah, a lot." Buffy was quite suddenly hit with an alarming realization. This was why all these adults were always trying to regain their youth: becoming a grown-up was all about being fake and stupid. OK, maybe Buffy was judging the entire adult population on just the people at this party but to some extent it was universally true. Not many of them knew how to be themselves, even though that was what they tell their kids is most important. It was definitely something to think about.

She had to get away from these people. They were so…grr. All they did was prance around in their expensive clothes, laughing like lunatics and stepping on everyone else's toes to reach their own goal. It was on the verge of ridiculous. Without the verge part.

"Wonderful. They were all so excited to meet you." Hank gave her a revering smile, happy she was attracting quite a crowd.

Buffy wondered sometimes if her father really was this oblivious to what was going on around him. Here he was, owner of the second largest company in the country, and he still thought that everyone was a saint until proven otherwise. Granted, it was good that he thought so highly of his employees but come on, open your eyes, Hanky.

"And, Buffy, you look absolutely lovely tonight." That's more like it.

Buffy shrugged a little but she was smiling. She had on a simple, but elegantly tasteful, black dress with a swooping neckline. One of her best traits was the way her skin always seemed to remain delicately tanned all year-round, and this dress' halter structure swept clean down her back, showing the bronze tone of the sun's reflection. A gentle curve showed mildly under the fabric of her abdomen, and Hank could see she was, in fact, glowing.

"Well, I better go mingle. You have fun, Buffy." Hank smiled again and left.

Buffy watched him go, her mind coursing with intermixed thoughts. A few days ago, she had aversely put the jacket back in the conference room, and when she'd gone in later, it was gone. She knew that Hank had come in and taken it but he said nothing to her about why she had it in the first place. It wasn't that she wasn't glad that he hadn't mentioned, but she wondered why he hadn't. No, she knew why: he didn't want to know why. Hank was content with thinking the best of people and didn't want to see faults. If he thought for a second that the reason Buffy had taken that jacket for any reason that wasn't to go get it dry cleaned (which wasn't exactly possible with leather) or to hang it in the closet, he would block the incident out of his mind and not think more of it. It bothered Buffy but… Well, she wasn't about to go tell him the reason.

She went into the kitchen, which was currently empty, and leaned tiredly on the counter. God, she had never been more confused. Her father had talked so often about the man who controlled his competition but had never mentioned any names. What a way to find out that her former history teacher was the "scary, evil, powerful," one who her father secretly feared. And he had been to her house. _This _ house. Only days ago. Did he know she was here? She sincerely hoped the answer was no.

"Hi, Buffy. I was hoping I'd find you."

Buffy turned around to see: "Mr. Abrams."

The dark hared man laughed loudly. "Oh, Buffy, don't be ridiculous. Parker's just fine."

Buffy nodded curtly to him. Parker Abrams worked for her father and he was the one person that she wished Hank would just see for who he was. He was always coming on to any and every woman who breathes, and Buffy had repeatedly shot him down, though he never seemed to get the message from anyone. His favorite saying had to be 'Use 'em and lose 'em.' And he definitely did.

"So, Buffy, how are you?" he asked. Before she responded, he said, "You know, I've been thinking lately, and I've come to the conclusion that you should marry me. It can be big or small, whatever. I'll buy you a big house."

Buffy mouth had opened, preparing to laugh. It had closed, however, when the look on Parker's face told her he was completely serious. "Excuse me?"

"Don't looked so surprised. You and I both know you don't like me. But this time you need me."

"Need you?" Buffy repeated numbly, not truly understanding what he was saying.

"Yes," Parker confirmed. "You're seventeen. You're knocked-up. Am I the only one who sees you're utterly and totally screwed for the rest of your natural life? 'Cause you are." He took a step closer to her, and she backed away a little. "I think we could make a workable deal. We get married. You pop out the kid; my name goes on its birth certificate. You raise it, and I never divorce you. Now, I'm not prohibited from sleeping with other women but if you don't like it, I won't do it in our bed. Or you can just have your own room. We'll come across like any other couple with a child. It'll be perfect."

"Parker…what are you talking about? How…? What…? I don't…"

Parker patted her arm knowingly. "I understand, you're flustered. You're thrown. I get it. But don't worry, we don't have to pretend to love each other. But think, Buffy, really think. You're _alone_. Completely alone. You _need_ me. You know why? Because I want you. Well, not so much you as your father's money. It's a win-win situation: my name goes on his will, we're both guaranteed enough money for our entire lifetime, and you're allowed to get out of being the girl who got pregnant."

Buffy abruptly jerked away. "I am not flustered. I am disgusted. How… What gives you the right to say this to me? How dare you even suggest that?"

Parker laughed a little. "Because I'm right. Buffy, nobody wants you. OK? Your mom doesn't, your friends don't, your dad's just too nice to admit that he's disgusted, and whoever knocked you up sure as hell doesn't care."

Buffy mouth opened and shut, her brain rapidly shutting down in a mixture of shock and denial. She stumbled back, her head shaking slowly.

Parker took this to his advantage and stepped towards her again. "Yes, Buffy, you know I'm right. You _need_ me because nobody wants you. You don't even know the guy you screwed that did this to you! You're cureless. You won't last a day in the real word because no one wants you." He smiled, an atrocious expression sliding onto his face. "Deal with it. No one wants-"

Parker was suddenly shoved back, slamming into the wall of the kitchen, causing various pots to clang angrily in response. Too stunned to move, he merely looked up, bewildered how someone so tiny could muster so much strength. That was when he realized she didn't. He came face to face with a man who was seething with anger and seemed to be ten feet tall. Before even getting the chance to stand he was yanked up and crammed into the wall yet again, this time with a hundred times more force. He fought for breath and was rewarded with another thrust. Two fists pressed firmly to his windpipe, blocking any chance of oxygen. Parker felt his knees buckle under him as he sunk back as far as he could, trying lamely to escape his attacker's iron grip. His eyes began to flutter back in their sockets, and he vaguely heard himself slip further.

"Who the hell do you think you are?" The voice held so much venom and hate that even if he'd been able to, Parker wouldn't have dared say anything. He was suddenly pushed back and released, sending him doubled over in a fit of coughing and gasping for much needed air.

No sooner had breath been gained, he was pulled up again. "Who the hell do you think you are?!"

"I was just trying to help," Parker wheezed. "She's needs to hear the truth! She can't take care of herself without anyone. She's just another slut whose father happens to be loaded!"

Dark brown eyes flashed and narrowed, turning almost jet black in an instant. "You did not…you did not just say that." Parker's only reply was to shrink back again and to most likely wet his pants. His cowardliness seemed to upset the other man even more, and he was soon thrust against the poor wall for the third time. But this time there was fist meeting eye and head crashing into wall. Hard. Parker stumbled off balance as he was struck.

Buffy watched in terror, still leaning against a wall for support. Parker was a lot smaller than he was, and she knew he would be crushed if this kept going. She struggled to her stand on her feet without falling over, hastily regaining her balance. As another punch was thrown, she opened her mouth and said something. Her voice, though, was so quiet and hesitant that not even she could hear it. So she said it again.

"Angel."

Parker, still being held by his shirt, peeked out of his shell when he felt himself still. His attacker had turned his head, and he was looking at Buffy. And she was looking at him.

There was a tense lull that settled upon them. Their eyes never wavered from one another's. They were locked and none of the willpower either possessed could make them tear apart. It amazed Buffy how she began virtually paralyzed when he looked at her. His eyes would cast themselves on hers and she wouldn't be capable of moving. Or think. Or move. Or think. He trapped her in his soul and she was completely unable to stop his allure. Not that she had ever wanted to, but sometimes it was dangerous to be caught up in him. From the day they'd met, she knew that she was in love with him (though she had sworn refusal to admit it to herself). She knew that what they "had" would be magical and no one could ever come between them. Then again, so did the three hundred other girls at their school and nothing could tell them otherwise. Each was thoroughly convinced that she and Angel were soul mates and yet…yet he chose her: Buffy. Well, it wasn't like he was looking; it was somewhat like…like she found him. Was it just coincidence that she had been the girl he had practically given a concussion when they first met? Of all those hundreds of bodies he could have collided with, he collided with her.

It had been two months, two agonizing months of waiting for…something. Neither knew what, but they knew they needed it. There were gaping holes in their chests that desperately needed to be filled. Whatever little thing inside them controlled their pain, finally decided to lighten up and give them a break. They felt assuaged and yet at the same time, hit with a ton of bricks, knocking the wind out of their lungs.

Parker's shirt was released with a measured fluency that showed Angel trying to control his emotions for everything that was happening; he dropped his hands to his side, his eyes now downcast to the floor. Parker took a calculating step away from him, not daring to speak or wipe of his bleeding nose. He looked quickly between the two other people, silently studying their suddenly rigid manner. Now that everything had stilled (for the moment) he recognized the taller man as the owner of that company in New York. Maybe this was how he managed to win everything he wanted to: he could just intimidate them with his mere presence or beat them up until they surrendered him a victory.

And as Buffy Summers stood there, looking so shaken that he almost wanted to provide some semblance of comfort, Parker knew what was going on. His mouth unconsciously dropped open and his fearful eyes widened in sudden understanding.

"Oh my God…" he said, his voice hoarse from a dry throat and shock. They glanced up at him, careful to avoid each other's eyes. Parker looked between them, his head moving sharply from one face to another. "I…I don't believe it… Oh my…" He took a step back, as if he was trying to absorb much too much information at one time.

Parker, realizing almost exactly what was going on, gave a tiny, semi-hysterical laugh. Casting one final glance towards each of them, he turned and stumbled out of the kitchen.

If silence could be deafening, it would have been. Buffy had wrapped her arms tightly around her middle, protecting herself from the sudden burst of cold that seemed to have entered the room where they stood. Angel had shoved his sore hands deep into his pockets, his shoulders hunched, bracing himself for whatever was going to happen next. Because with Buffy, you never really knew.

As the strain grew so thick that she could practically feel it weighing her body down, Buffy tried to search her mind for something she could say that wouldn't make her sound stupid or broken or just plain pathetic. Nothing. God she hated tension. To say you could cut it with a knife would be a blatant understatement, one that she wished to ignore.

"H-how was your trip?" she asked, not allowing herself to look at him.

Angel's eyes darted briefly to her face before resuming their downcast position. "It was…it was fine. Productive."

"That's good." Buffy nodded rapidly, fidgeting with her hands, trying to quell her need to run away and block the unwanted incident permanently from her mind.

Angel, though extremely agitated, glanced up a little, his gaze resting on Buffy's mid-section. Up until this moment he had thought he would be able to contain what he was feeling until he finally got to go home and drink himself to oblivion. But now, as his dark eyes glued itself to the soft arch under her dress, and he didn't think he would ever be able to hide the true agony that coursed through his being. He was swiftly letting his guard down, revealing the broken man he was slowly deteriorating into.

Buffy felt her abdomen burn when he fixed his stare on it. Angel, big, strong, you-can't-hurt-me Angel, looked so crushed that she felt her breath hitch and her throat tighten. Faltering slightly, she had to take a breath, which was supposed to compose her, yet only seemed to make her eyes prickle with more unshed tears.

A phone sounded abruptly, interrupting the anguished thoughts that raced through both their minds.

"H-hello?" Angel said into the small cell he'd pulled quickly from his jacket. "Oh…Sure…No, I know where it is…Yes…That's fine…Yeah, tell them I'll be right over…Well, tell him not to…Yeah, OK…I'm fine…No, I am…Darla, I'm fine…Sure…I will. Bye." He snapped the flip shut and shoved it back into his pocket.

The way his body tensed alerted Buffy to the fact that he was going to say something to her. She braced herself, knowing that this was the end. The end of…everything.

"I, um, have to go now," Angel said finally, causing her to flinch at the awkwardness overwhelming his tone. "Tell your…tell your father thank you. For the party."

Buffy said nothing in response, though she felt a single tear slid down her face before dropping mutely to the floor. Her eyes stung in a way she had never known before. Her throat refused to loosen and allow her to breathe properly. Though her head was down, Angel could see the drop fall. His heart shattered.

Without another word, he turned and, pausing only once, left. Left her.

As Buffy's blurry eyes traveled around the kitchen, she felt more tears fall. The room looked the same as always. There was no sign of a fight; no indication of two people's emotion running in turmoil. It was the same old kitchen with no object disturbed. The sight made Buffy want to scream. But instead, she just let the salty water, which seemed to come directly from her heart, stream down her cheeks, pouring out what was left of the wall protecting her from the world.


	9. Part 9

****

Part 9

Hank was never much of a drinker. Sure, he had a few now and then, mostly at parties, sometimes at diner, but the liquor he had at home had all been gifts for some occasion and had been collecting dust since their arrival. Until now. Tonight he'd cracked open a bottle of scotch and was on his third glass. His tie was a mess and his slacks had become wrinkled from sitting on them for too long. And somehow he couldn't seem to care.

For two days he had been staying up late, paranoid about a number of different explanations to what had happened at his office party. He'd received a startling piece of information from a particular unreliable character, and Hank didn't know what to believe. It was in Parker Abrams' nature to lie, but when the young man had approached him, his face was bruised and bloodied. It wasn't as if Parker had beat himself up just to let his story fly.

There was a soft knock on his door, and Hank stiffened a little when he saw who it was. "Buffy. What are you doing up so late?"

Hanging back at the door, she gave a little shrug. "Couldn't sleep." She chewed uncertainly on her bottom lip. "Daddy…are you OK?"

"Why would you ask that?" Hank asked, jumpy about the question.

"You're just acting kind of weird. I just wondered…"

He considered her carefully, wondering what was going through her mind. Finally, he let out an exhausted sigh and motioned her over. "Sit down, Buffy."

She frowned slightly when she caught sight of the alcohol resting on her father's desk but obliged and pulled back one of the chairs.

Hank faced her, folding his hands in a business-like manner, trying to not show too much fear in what he was about to say. Didn't fool Buffy in the least. "Listen, I talked to someone the other day, and it brought up some questions. Now, I've considered whether or not to come to you about this, but I think maybe it's best just to have everything out in the open." He adjusted his position in his seat once more before clearing his throat and beginning.

"Buffy, Parker Abrams spoke with me after the office party. He…well, he said some things that made me question you. I'm not saying I believe him but I need to hear it from you." Hank met his daughter's eyes with strained determination. "He said that he thinks Angel O'Connor was the man who got you pregnant."

Angel O'Connor…man…got you…got you pregnant…pregnant…man who got you pregnant… The words all seemed to roll together in Buffy's mind; her father's mouth spoke in slow motion, and she couldn't tell if this was a dream or not. She prayed it was. Prayed it was a nightmare.

But as Hank's stare bore into her eyes, she knew she was awake. So clearly, so painfully awake… Fear passed across her face – fear of her dad and fear of the words he had uttered so plainly.

"Buffy…is this…_true_?" Hank's voice told her that he was not completely assured that it wasn't. He even seemed horrified. And so was she. Angel had been her history teacher and had slowly progressed into her friend. But a teacher/student relationship? That was just wrong. Buffy knew it. Hank knew it. The whole world knew it. Then why was he sitting there, in his stupid little office with his stupid cup of scotch, asking her if her former teacher was the father of her baby? That was a preposterous idea! Yet…he was still asking. And Buffy still hadn't said anything. It should be the most obvious answer there was. What's your name? Buffy Summers. How old are you? Seventeen. Did you sleep with your teacher? Of course not. Simple questions suddenly became impossible.

"Yes." Buffy said it so quietly that even she wasn't sure she'd heard it. She continued focusing on her hands for another moment before she raised her head, undauntingly meeting the older man's eyes. "Yes."

Hank said nothing for the longest time. Time seemed to still, not daring to continue on. For the first time in what seemed like forever, Buffy didn't avert her gaze. The word yes. She was again struck at how stubborn it sounded, how strong she felt saying it. Her new found courage seemed to momentarily surpass all fear and doubt, and Buffy couldn't focus on anything but yes.

"I don't…I don't understand." Hank's eyes were wide with confusion and shock, making him look somewhat like a scared fish. It definitely would have been funny except that Buffy was so preoccupied with trying not back-down and run away that somehow, she didn't feel like laughing. "H-how do you even know him?"

Buffy's entire being seemed to slump, too tired to keep pretending to be strong. She was tired. God, so tired. Tired of lying, tired of faking, and just plain tired of being tired. And she knew sleep wasn't the answer to this one. "He was my teacher," she said. "History."

If the silence had been jolted before, this one was so much more than horrified. It wasn't silence, it wasn't quiet, it wasn't still. It was nothing, absolutely nothing. No sound, no breath, no movement. It was a museum of figures that were unable to do anything at all. Just nothing.

"Your…_teacher_?" Hank said, his voice hushed. Buffy could hear the pain in his voice and wanted nothing more than to wake up now.

"Y-yes. My teacher."

"Buffy…" He shook his head slowly, deliberately, glad he was sitting down. "Buffy… How… Why would you do this? You…how could you?"

She felt her eyes get ready for another wave of tears, a feeling that was so familiar that it made her want to cry (haha). "Because I…because I…" She faltered, not wanting to tell him. It was all she had left. She realized that she lost everything. Parker had been right: she was alone. And screwed. She had nothing left but one tiny notion in her head (and her heart) and a baby steadily growing deep inside her, unaware of what was going on in her family. Somehow, she apprehended, those would have to be enough.

"He didn't…rape you, did he?" Hank asked, still not knowing how to act or what to say. He hadn't fully reacted to what was just opened-up and he honestly didn't want to. Ignorance is truly the definition of bliss.

Buffy eyebrows arched, thrown. "N-no. No, he didn't."

Hank didn't know whether to be relieved or start crying. A huge mixture of confusion, shock and distress clouded his mind and senses, making him completely disoriented and overwhelmed. "Buffy, why did you do this? You're a good girl. You're nice and smart. Why did you do this? You would never do this. I know you wouldn't."

Buffy let the lull go on for a few more moments. The ticks of the clock seemed so loud she couldn't hear herself think. She squared her shoulders and gave him a look that told him she regretted what she was about to say. But she knew she had to. "You don't know I wouldn't. You're my father and I love you. But you don't know me. You hadn't seen me in two years. You called on my birthday. You missed one. The only reason you came for me was because you felt like you were obligated. I was pregnant, and I was your daughter so you had to come for me. You had to act happy. But we both know you weren't.

"You're my dad. All I ever wanted to do was make you proud of me. You always came home, talking about some new intern who was the smartest, nicest one you'd ever met, and all I wanted was to hear you say something like that about me. Not because you thought it would be nice, but because you meant it. I wanted you mean it.

"I'm sorry that I disappointed you. I'm sorry I disappointed Mom and my friends. But I'm not sorry for what happened. And I am _not_ going to apologize for my baby. I love her. I'm going to be a wonderful mother. And I'm not going to be fake with her. I'm going to be everything she wants and everything she doesn't want. I'll be what she needs. And I couldn't be more happy about it."

As word after word flowed from her mouth, Buffy was seized by an unknown force, a power, which wouldn't allow her to stop. She poured every single drop of what was in her heart out and she couldn't stop. And she didn't want to. The emotion in her voice made the tears cascade endlessly, though she didn't notice.

"I know what love is. I know what it feels like. It's suffocating. It's powerful and scary and perfect all at the same time. I love my daughter and I…" She stopped. Hank was staring at her, frozen in his chair, hanging reluctantly on every word. Buffy suddenly knew he was listening, really listening. "And I love her father." Her voice broke considerably but she ignored it and continued. "I love him. And I miss him. I need him to be here. He's the only one who can understand. He was always the only one. And he's the one thing I can't have, and it kills me."

She took a few shaky breaths, trying to keep herself together. Her face felt stuck with fresh and dried tears of her past. She knew there would be many more. But not here. Not right now. "I'm going back to Sunnydale. I belong there. I miss Mom and I miss my friends. Thank you, Dad. I'm really glad I came. It helped me. A lot. But now…I need to go back home."

~~~

Buffy knocked softly on the front door, wondering if it was a mistake to be there. Fighting herself from having so many second thoughts, she braced herself as footsteps neared from inside the house. Her hands tightened around each other, nervously fidgeting. The door opened.

A look of surprise appeared on Joyce Summers' face when she saw who was there. Buffy hadn't said anything about coming back so soon (or at all), and she hadn't been expecting to see her. But relief coursed through her system at the sight of her here again.

Buffy took the first step in, and Joyce was soon to follow, giving that much needed embrace that had been dead for so long.

"Welcome back," Joyce whispered, fighting the lump in her throat. "Welcome home."

Buffy closed her eyes and relaxed into the familiar arms of her mom. Home.


	10. Part 10a

****

Part 10a

~ Sunnydale, CA – August, 1998 (Five months later) ~

Senior year. The end of one road and the beginning of another. One door closes, another one opens and all that kind of stuff. This was true in more ways than one. Number one for Buffy: the baby. Number one for most: college. Willow was completely freaking herself out about the entire process, when she was the only one who could go to any college in the country, plus some in Europe.

Xander had been entirely passive about anything involving a charted future. He was the only one out of the gang who wasn't planning on being college bound next year. Much to everyone's shock, he and Queen C were still dating. Many had lost money over how long that would last. Cordy was surprisingly open-minded about their relationship. She wasn't controlling or tense like she'd been while dating other, and less Xander-like, guys. She was actually kind of…fun to be around. This did not mean, however, she still wasn't Cordelia Chase.

"What do you mean you don't like this one? It's the cutest thing ever!"

Sighing, Buffy gave her a tired look, not in the mood to deal with arguing. "No, Cordelia, for the last time, I don't want all pink. Why is this so hard to understand?"

"Because that's what you buy for baby girls: pink everything." Cordy gave her an all-knowing look and added, "It's what you're _supposed_ to do. It's expected."

"But I don't want to buy all pink. I want all different colors. I don't want my daughter waking up in the middle of the night, after a nightmare, surrounded by Pepto Bismul walls and furniture."

"Fine," Cordelia huffed, giving in to stubborn, hormonal Buffy. Even she had her limits and arguing for nearly an hour about various baby items was definitely one of them. They were sitting in the brunette's room, magazines and computer prints creating a sea of paper around them. They were shopping. Cordy wanted pink, Buffy wanted no pink. It was a heated debate over clothes and dressers, one that would go on for a long time unless there was a break taken.

"Well, I think that's enough for now, don't you? I'm also kind of hungry…"

Cordelia rolled her eyes at Buffy. "You're always hungry."

Buffy looked hurt. "I am not."

"Oh you so are. You called me in at one-thirty last week, asking for some cookie-dough ice cream with peanut butter and cherry sauce. Do you have any idea how stupid I looked going into Safeway at two o'clock in the freaking morning, in my sweats no less, buying some random crap food? Do you have any idea?"

"Yes, Cordy, you've reminded me many times. Next time I get pregnant, I'll be sure to stock-up before hand."

Cordelia froze. Buffy's tone was light, almost flippant, but a warning bell dinged in her head. "What do you mean 'next time?' "

Buffy looked up and quickly shook her head. "No, I didn't mean…no. I just meant that… I was proving a point."

"Right," Cordelia said with a nod, though she kept her eyes on Buffy, unassured.

They were both quiet, pretending to be enthralled in the magazines in hand. Little things like this now shook them all up. Everyone had been thrilled that Buffy had come back from Los Angeles and was planning on coming back to school after she had the baby, but there was just something missing. It had, in some ways, been better when Buffy wouldn't talk or come out of her room. At least then they knew she was hiding something. It was easy to tell that she was hurting and sad and lonely, but now they didn't know what she was feeling. She acted happy and had rekindled her relationship with her mother, making her a lot less stressed, but there was still something.

And what was Buffy going to name this baby? She hadn't hinted at all what she had considered even though the gang had been suggesting assorted ones since the summer. Cordelia wondered about what the baby would look like; right now, all she could picture was someone who looked like mini-Buffy. They still had to what had happened to Buffy that would make her so adamant about protecting the identity of the father. The word rape had wound it's way into the conversations excluding Buffy numerous times, but the doctor had told Joyce that there was no external or internal tearing he could identify. So, instead of interrogating her about what had happened, they just thought up names.

"So, Buffy, have you thought of any names yet? I mean, before long the baby's going to be here."

Buffy glanced up from her page and gave a half-smile. "I haven't really thought much more about it. I mean, I tried but every time I thought of one, it seemed wrong for her. Like it didn't fit. I don't know, maybe I'm trying too hard. But I want her name to be perfect for her. And I guess I won't know until I see her."

"Are you scared?" Cordy asked.

Buffy raised an eyebrow. "Scared of seeing her? Uh, I didn't plan on it…"

"No, scared of having her. Like not just the birth part but like when she grows up. Are you scared?"

There was no answer for a few minutes. Buffy stared down, playing vacantly with the carpet. Was she scared? No one had asked her that. Was it normal to be scared when you had a baby? Were women who had sturdy husbands and lifestyles perfectly confident about bringing a child into the world? Because she sure wasn't.

"I'm terrified," she said, her voice hushed in a whisper. She looked up and met Cordelia's eyes. "I have no idea what I'm doing. I have Mom and I have you guys, but it feels like I'm walking blindfolded. I'm so scared."

Cordy's lips parted in surprise at the blonde's sudden willingness to open up and reveal her feelings. She leaned forward, shaking her head. "Buffy, you're not blindfolded. When you say you have us, you really do have us. We're here for you and we're here for the baby. Whatever you need, you can just ask. You can call me in the middle of the night with the weirdest food requests and I'll go out of get it for you. Now, I'm not saying I won't give you grief, but that's just because, well, I'm me. We _are_ here for you."

"I know," Buffy said, smiling unstably. "And thank you for that. I don't know what I'd do without you guys."

"And you won't have to," Cordy finished with a decisive nod.

Buffy produced a genuine smile and went back to the flipping through pages.

"Oh, I almost forgot," Cordelia said suddenly. "I bought this magazine that had the most adorable crib. It's over there." She pointed to the desk behind Buffy, obviously unwilling to get up herself.

"Cordelia…" Buffy said warningly.

"No, it's not pink," she replied, slightly annoyed by the fact. "It's white and blue. Just go get it."

Sighing, Buffy stood up and headed over. She raised an eyebrow when she saw had expensive everything was, knowing there was no way she was ever going to buy it. But she at least had to humor Cordy. Grabbing the magazine, she turned around and took barely two steps before she doubled slightly as her mid-section seized. Cordelia, unaware of it, continued book marking pages. Buffy righted herself after it had passed and continued across the room. She reached her seat and was about to sit down when another wave of pain gripped her stomach, this time so hard that Buffy dropped the magazine and clamped her eyes together, her hands going to the source of the convulsion.

"Hey!" Cordy said as the magazine crumpled next to her. Turning around, she said, irritation lacing her voice, "You know, Buffy, just because you don't like…" She trailed off abruptly when she took in the sight behind her. Buffy was bent over, her body shaking in distress. Cordy was instantly on her feet, at Buffy's side. "What's wrong? Buffy…?"

The pain had grown to enormous levels, making her entire body feel like it was burning up. The sensations were so excruciating now that she almost couldn't hear Cordelia speaking to her.

"Buffy, what's wrong?" Cordy's voice rose rapidly when she got no response. "Say something!"

"The baby," Buffy choked out. "Something's wrong. She's coming."

Cordelia's eyes widened to an alarming size, her mouth falling open in shock. "What…? But…but she's not due for like, two more months!"

"I know. But it's…something's happening." A tear triggered by the pain slid down Buffy's face. "Cordy, please…oh God…"

"W-what do I do? What do I…?" Cordelia glanced wildly around the room, as if she would somehow find the answer among the shelves and CDs.

"Your car… I need to go to the hospital…now."

Cordy gave a nervous, semi-hysterical laugh. "Well, the funny thing is…well, my license kind of got taken away. And well, Daddy got kinda mad so he took my keys. So…I don't exactly have car."

Buffy opened her mouth to reply, but instead she collapsed on the floor in a heap of anguish.

"Oh God, oh God, oh God." Cordelia wrung her hands as she ran to her phone. Her fingers skidded across the buttons, shaky uncontrollably. She raised the receiver to her ear, trying to keep breathing.

Buffy clutched her stomach, her fingers curling around the fabric of her shirt. And it was at that moment when she became religious. She had never believed in the Bible or Jesus or even God, for that matter. But as she realized that blood was now coursing down her legs, she prayed to Him. She prayed for the life of the tiny being inside her that she could feel slipping dangerously.

"Buffy, can you hear me? Buffy, please…?"

She opened her eyes to see Cordelia kneeling over her, her face knotted with undampered worry. "Cordelia…?"

She nodded quickly, relief flooding her features. "Buffy, it's going to be OK. Help is coming. It's going to be OK. Just stay with me… Just stay awake."

Another tear escaped Buffy's eye. "My baby…"

"Is going to be fine. She's going to be fine."

"I can't loose her, Cordelia. She's everything…"

Cordelia's eyes went to where dark red liquid had soaked through Buffy's clothes and had coated part of the carpet. She covered her mouth to keep from crying out at how much blood there was. She had to be strong. This was what shaped a person, what determined their character. She knew she had to be strong. Strong for herself and strong for her friend. She took Buffy's hand and held it tightly. "It's going to be OK. It's going to be OK. Just hold on for a few more minutes."

Buffy's eyes fluttered shut, and the only thought in her mind was that she needed Cordelia to be right. Please be right. She felt herself swimming, then floating, then falling and the last thing she heard were the distant sirens coming to save her.

~~~

Angel took the stairs two at a time, completely ignoring the elevator, which seemed to offer to make his trip to the seventh floor even longer than it already seemed. Practically swinging the door clear of its hinges, he stalked into the main area and straight towards room 217. As he turned to corner, he was greeted with the sight of his cousin sitting on a bench, head in hands.

"Cordy…?" he asked hesitantly.

When she looked up, her face was tear streaked, something that was on her top ten list of thing not to do. Her make-up sat heavily under her puffy eyes, and Angel realized that he'd never seen her truly upset. She stood when she heard her name, immediately going over to him, needing some semblance of comfort. Nothing was said as a hug was exchanged. Angel had no idea why he was even here or what was going on, but the fact that she was letting someone hug her meant it was something big.

"Cordelia, what's wrong?" he asked, searching her eyes for something unknown to him, holding her shoulders firmly in place.

"Everything," she answered quietly. "They…the doctors don't know if the baby's going to make it."

"What baby?" he said, though he could feel his chest begin to tighten, warningly. "What baby?"

"Buffy's baby." Feeling her eyes start to well again, she quickly swiped a hand over them, trying to stop the tired feeling of crying. She had called Angel to come to the hospital and was now glad she had. Her parents were incapable of giving her the consolance she needed, and he was the only one who was able to support her in whatever she was going through. May it be major or minor, Angel was always there for her.

Her shoulders slumped as she shook her head. "It's hooked up to all these machines. It's so small…" She felt Angel's hands leave her arms, sliding slowly away. She looked up and could see the impact the news was having on him. His worried expression melted into one of terror. His jaw had gone slightly slack, a look that was utterly not him.

When Cordelia had called him, he'd sped at least thirty miles over the speed limit because the mere thought of her being hurt, make his gut clench in fear. She was practically his baby sister, he couldn't lose her. She had been monotonely vague on the phone, making him even more frightened. But she wasn't in the hospital for herself. She was there with Buffy. With Buffy. And Buffy's baby was…

"What…?" he whispered. "What are you talking about?"

"Buffy was at my house. She got…pains. And she couldn't get up. She…" Cordelia stopped as her voice broke off. She tried breathing normally but it came out quivering and uneven. "God, Angel, there was so much blood. So much…" She pressed her hands to her face as a round of exhausted sobs wracked through her body.

Angel stared at her like she'd grown a horn, unable (or unwilling) to comprehend the information. "Buffy…?"

Cordy wiped her cheeks and shook her head. "She's asleep. She…she's still asleep."

Willow walked over, her hands clutching each other. She was in a similar state to that of Cordelia's, looking emotionally wiped-out. The girl who normally greeted her teachers with a bright grin and cheerful salutation could barely manage a half-smile.

"Hey, Willow," Cordy said, mimicking the type the redhead's expression. "Anything?"

Willow shook her head; her teeth clamped down on her lip. "The doctor just talked to Joyce. He, um…he knows what happened. The umbilical cord…well, it detached from the uterus. It's called a…a detached placenta. That's what caused the bleeding." She took a lengthy pause, fighting the knot that swelled in her throat. Cordelia reached over and gently squeezed her hand, giving her the best valiant smile she could possibly muster. Willow nodded a little, acknowledging the attempt of comfort.

"They had to do a c-section to get the baby out. It's heart…it wasn't beating but they, um, revived it. It's on a bunch of machines to try and stabilize the vitals. I don't know what's going to happen…"

"Where's Joyce?" Cordelia asked quietly.

"She's still talking with the doctor," Willow said. "Buffy probably won't wake up for another hour, and they're to get everything figured out before she does. They want to give her straight answers when she gets up. She had another transfusion, and her blood pressure is a little better."

Angel wished he could just melt away into the walls of the sterile building. Wished he could be far, far away from these glaring halls and beeping machines. Away from pain… Yet, at the same time, he wouldn't leave for the world. He felt his mind go numb and his body go into shock. He could here their voices but he wasn't apart of what they were saying. He wasn't there.

Xander handed both girls a cup of hot tea when he came up to their small group. He acknowledged Angel's presence with a nod, for the first time not feeling intimidated. They were equal now. He gave Cordelia and then Willow a warm hug, trying to help all of their spirits.

And the four of them stood there, nothing left to say.


	11. Part 10b

****

Part 10b

Buffy's eyes shot open, baring themselves to the harsh florescent light. She lied there, as memories flooded back. The beep of her heart monitor evaded her brain and sounded a hundred times louder than it was in actuality. Despite the numbness throughout her body she could still feel the soreness of her torso and her hand went to her stomach. Her breath hitched when she realized there was no longer a bulge where her daughter rested. Her mind raced, trying in vain to search for the part where this had happened. When she came up blank, panic began taking over. Her heart raced and her breath became precariously uneven.

She forced her body to cooperate and sit up. Suddenly, she cried out in pain, curling herself over. With fumbling hands, she drew back her gown to reveal of large bandage stretching across her womb. Cautiously pulling back the tape and layers of gauze, her eyes widened when she saw an angry red slash of cut skin, sewn together with thin metal thread. She fingered it, gently testing how tender it was. Judging from the lack of scab, she could tell it had happened recently.

Hurriedly covering herself up, she grabbed onto the cool, silver pole of her IV and unstably raised herself to her feet. After taking one step, Buffy knew this was a horrible idea. It was sheer torture to try walking with the deep wound in her stomach. Every time she moved, the skin would resist and shocks of pain would be sent throughout her. Her limbs felt like a million pounds and she couldn't control how they shook. She felt so weak and so tired she knew she would collapse soon. Her knees seemed to have forgotten how to function, and the IV stand was a poor substitute.

The hall was eerily deserted and Buffy wished she knew what was going on, her whole being felt desperately empty. Her bare feet made no sound as she ignored how much it hurt to take each slow step. She made it to the end of that section of the long hall.

Weren't hospitals supposed to be chaotic and loud? She almost wished it were; that would be better than the quiet.

As she turned the corner, she saw that she was walking straight into the waiting room area. She watched as Willow put a consoling arm around her mother, who was sitting in a chair looking drained. Xander and Cordelia sat close by, and Xander was gently rubbing his girlfriend's back, trying to soothe her lingering tears.

Buffy stumbled back a little, out of their sight. The panic had started up again, and she couldn't face them now. She turned herself around and, narrowly escaping a fall, she went down another way.

The first thing that came to mind of when she though of hospitals were those rooms with those observation windows that had the wire making little squares in them. In movies, that was where the families stood as they watched someone, and Buffy came face to face with one. She read the file on the door and felt her jaw start to shake.

She flashed back to watching _Steel Magnolias_ with her mom. She had probably only been eight or nine but the film seemed to be permanently engraved into her mind, though she didn't know why. Life support machines. They were by far the scariest things in the world. How could a machine be the heart of a person? It didn't seem right.

She approached the window, in an almost zombie-like fashion, her eyes never daring to blink. It was hard to see but she could make out a small plastic box that had assorted different tubes extending into bulky machines that surrounded it. And inside the plastic cell, lay a tiny, still baby. It had one of those hats that all babies got when they were born and had the plastic wristband as well. It looked like a normal baby but it was so deathly. As hard as Buffy looked, she couldn't see it moving at all.

Her legs seemed to work before her brain did, taking her into the room, past the manila folder that clearly read 'Summers.' She stood there, in front of in incubator, frozen in place. With a feeble limb, she extended her hand through the small hole in the side of it. Ever so gently, she placed her index finger on the baby's hand. A hushed sob escaped her lips when the baby barely reacted. Its minute hand powerlessly unfolded its fingers, trying to grab onto the larger on. But she couldn't.

~~~

The occupants of the still waiting room quickly raised their heads at the sound of footsteps, instantly becoming alert. Their shoulders sagged in a mixture of defeat and relief when they saw it wasn't the doctor.

Joyce immediately stood, went over to her ex-husband, and embraced him. Hank held her, allowing her weight to rest on him, feeling how tired she was.

"How is she?" he asked, once they'd released each other.

"Which one?" Joyce said quietly.

Hank dropped his head briefly, fighting the tears that threatened to grow. "Both."

"Buffy's still asleep. The baby…she's not doing too well. The trauma was…it was just too much. The doctors are doing everything they can but…" She shook her head.

Hank took a shaky breath and motioned for her to sit. She sank back down into her chair, grateful he was here. She glanced up and said, "This is Buffy's dad. Hank, these are her friends, Willow, Xander and Cordelia."

Hank managed a smile for the people around the room. "I'm glad Buffy has such good friends. It's nice to meet all of you. Finally." He sat down next to Joyce and gave her hand a quick squeeze. "Buffy's a fighter. If the baby got even one percent of her genes, it's going to be fine."

"I hope so," Joyce whispered. "She wasn't due until October, and when they finally got her out, she wasn't breathing."

Hank didn't know what else to say so he just nodded. Glancing around the room, he noticed something was missing. Or someone. Reluctantly he asked, "Is…_Angel_ here?"

The three teenagers looked up in surprise, thoroughly confused. Cordelia, taking charge, said, "Angel? Why would you ask that? And how do you even know him?"

"He owns a company I do business with," Hank said with a slight frown. "I just figured he'd be here for Buffy."

"Who is Angel?" Joyce asked.

"My cousin," Cordy said. "He's our history teacher."

Hank winced at that, still sore about the whole thing. But he knew that was who Buffy needed, and so he tried to be open-minded and at least polite about it. "He isn't here?"

"No," the brunette replied, still unclear about what Buffy's dad was talking about.

"I don't understand," Joyce said, reading everyone else's minds. "Why would their teacher be here?"

Hank glanced around the room at each of their puzzled faces. Had something happened that he wasn't aware of? He opened his mouth to ask when a nurse rushed in, worried look in place.

"Excuse me," she said, "do you know where Ms. Summers is?"

There was a pause as everyone shifted subjects and digested the question.

"What do you mean?" Joyce asked, her voice rising.

"She's not in her bed. I went in there to check her IV and she was gone." The nurse wrung her hands, nervously searching eyes.

Joyce stared at the young woman. "She's gone…?"

~~~

Angel halted when he turned to corner. Cordy had decided to stay and, upon her requests, he'd gone and got her some coffee, grateful for the escape. But he caught sight of Hank Summers and knew there was no way he could deliver the steaming cup to her with the man there. Hank wouldn't understand why he was there. He'd want to know, and they'd have to explain that he was a history teacher at Buffy's school. That would develop another discussion about why he didn't say anything even when he'd seen Buffy in LA. And Angel did _not_ want to get into all that, knowing his brain was too full of other things to make up an acceptable lie.

He stepped behind the corner of the wall so they weren't likely to see him.

"What do you mean?" he heard Joyce say.

Another female voice answered, "She's not in her bed. I went in there to check her IV and she was gone."

"She's gone…?"

Angel quickly swiveled around and started the other way. Right then, he forgot about his feelings about what was going on, forgot of Cordelia's coffee, even forgot about Hank's sudden presence. All he could focus one was one thing: her. He knew she would be hurting and filled with confusion, and the thought of her wandering around this huge hospital with a major cut through her abdomen, made his composure lessen drastically.

He was nearly running down the hall when his eyes caught something on a door. The name Summers was written of the file, and he knew it was not talking about Buffy. His pulse quickened as his steps slowed and he prepared to look in the window if the room.

The paper cup crashed down to the linoleum floor, throwing hot coffee from it. The liquid seeped across the big square tiles, stopping when it reached the wall. But Angel didn't notice. His eyes were focused on something else.

Buffy had dropped to the ground many minutes ago and she now just stared ahead, her gaze blank. Her body jumped at the sound of the door opening.

Angel's expression was unsure as Buffy looked up at him. Nothing was said or done as they saw one another for the first time in months. It wasn't until her eyes wandered away from his that Angel realized she was in partial shock, not really seeing him. The IV connected to her wrists had closed in, nearly empty.

He kneeled down next to her, grabbed her upper arms and tried to get her to stand. "Buffy, we need to go. Come on."

She was aware enough to feel herself being taken from her place by her baby, and suddenly pulled back. Angel was a lot stronger than her, who, in addition to her size, was incredibly weak. As he got her to her feet, she started thrashing her arms lamely into his chest, trying to make him let go.

"Stop it," Angel said quietly.

A harsh sob escaped her throat when she realized she couldn't make him go away. "Let go…"

"Buffy, stop," he said, his voice tight when a knot had formed. His own eyes burned and he tried to lock his jaw.

"Let go of me!" she cried, throwing her upper body back.

"Dammit, Buffy, stop." He could see a faint coat of blood where she'd ripped some stitches.

As he nearly yanked her onto his chest, she allowed her legs to give way, pulling them both down. Buffy crumpled against him, her hands rootlessly trying resist. She finally just let herself start to cry, unable to support her body any more. Angel's grip on her shoulder still held firmly even as he felt himself give in.

"What's wrong with her?" Buffy sobbed.

A single tear fell over Angel's eyelid, dropping down to land on Buffy's hand. She raised her head to look, really look, at him, searching for something unidentifiable, begging him for an answer, needing him to make things better. But he had nothing to left to say.

She seemed to surrender to the never-ending pain of not understanding. She caved into herself, crying almost silently. Angel leaned over, gently pressing his forehead against hers. Her tiny arms wound around his neck as he cradled her to him.

~~~

Maybe if she just laid here then she would never have to get up; never have to face the world. So many emotions were crashing down around her and she couldn't control what her heart wanted to feel. Her body, her mind – everything was so very tired. She knew that no amount of sleep could ever swallow that feeling. The plus: she didn't notice how uncomfortable the hospital beds were, the exhaustion seemed to just block it out.

Her eyes opened and she solemnly stared at the ceiling. The fluorescents had been turned off so the only light came from the border on the headboard above her. The pain medication was still going strong, giving her a numb feeling all over. It wasn't until her eyes adjusted to the dim lighting that she realized she wasn't alone. In a chair next to the bed, sat Angel, his head buried in his hands, unaware of her awakening. Buffy lay frozen, watching him sit there, listening to the ragged sound of his breath. It wasn't usual for Angel to be flustered. He was Mr. I'm-so-smooth-and-cool-that-you-can't-figure-me-out-even-if-you-tried. But his breath came out uneven and shaky and his shoulders were quivering.

She must have been awake for ten minutes before he finally realized it. He looked up. His eyes were overblown with guilt and regret and pain. He hadn't really looked at her for the entire night but now their eyes met and he saw her for the first time.

"Buffy."

Breakout the tissues already, she thought, feeling the familiar lump form in her throat. She almost wished he wouldn't speak her name; it generated far too much anguish on both their parts. He would say that one, simple word and it made her want to just…to just die right then and there. There was just something in his voice that released all of her emotions about anything else and made her think of only one thing: him. She decided that it was imperative that she create her own dictionary with lots of new words to describe what she felt when he merely looked at her. Their eyes would meet for a second and it was instant fever, leaving her disoriented and completely lovesick. Sometimes she just wanted to beg him to get out of her heart and her head and wished that she had never met him. Life would be so much simpler, so much clearer. She would go to college, met some nice, polite boy, end up marrying him, pop out a few kids, live in a Martha Stewart Living house, and play right into her devoted mother role. OK sure, so maybe she wouldn't be head over heals in love with her imaginary husband but at least their lives would be nothing out of the ordinary. But what about the fire? What about the crazy, what-hell-are-we-doing passion? Could she live without it? Would she wake up at night and yearn for something more?

His hand reached out. His finger slid silently under hers. A small drop of salty water dropped onto the white pillow.

She would never know.


	12. Part 11

****

Part 11

"Is she here?"

Joyce nodded. "Yeah, she's upstairs… As she has been for the past three days."

"Still hasn't come out?" Jenny asked, feeling the hope she'd held on her way over melt away.

"Nope. Not once."

Jenny released an elongated breath, letting out her frustration, which was outweighed by sorrow.

Three of days of being back home and Buffy had yet to utter one word to anyone. Her recovery was shaky, but improving. She always was bundled up to keep from shivering from the cold only she seemed to be affected by. The doctor said that was from losing so much iron and when her blood count returned to normal she would be fine. As for the result of her c-section, the wound was healing well. She wasn't allowed to lift heavy things or do anything remotely physical that could possibly strain her, but otherwise, in the words of the good doctor, "there will be no long-term damage except a scar."

No long-term damage. Hmm. How could there be no long-term damage? She was broken, and not one of the doctors or nurses had come to her and tried to actually help. Dressing bandages and changing IV bags wasn't the same as an actual connection. Granted, Buffy probably wouldn't have accepted their offered friendship but it would have been nice to at least try.

Joyce had taken her in to see the baby yesterday, despite the uncertainty of how well Buffy would handle it. They'd both stood outside of the room, watching the tiny girl lie sleeping. The tears shed then had been silent, almost solemn. Buffy had gone in with her mother's encouragement. She'd put her hand inside the incubator, the same way as she had over a week ago, and this time, her finger was held. Not firmly, but definitely with a grip. She had been so shocked that she stood there for nearly ten minutes, unable to blink. Joyce had to fight herself from becoming too emotional when she saw Buffy's eyes widen and turn from surprised to absolute joy.

On their way out of the hospital, they'd filled out the remaining part of the birth certificate, which had been almost forgotten with all the other things going on. Buffy had stared at the paper for the longest time when her pen reached the name columns. Joyce had practically been able to see the wheels spinning in her daughter's head, as she mentally debated with herself about what to write. Joyce had focused intently on Buffy's face as conflicting emotions and decisions flew across her eyes.

Finally, Buffy placed the tip of the ink down and slowly wrote three words. Summers, Katherine Elizabeth.

"Well, it's a beautiful name," Jenny commented will a light smile.

Joyce sighed, but nodded in agreement. "It is. But… If you could have seen Buffy's face when she wrote Summers…her whole hand was shaking. It was horrible."

"Have you talked to her about…you know?"

"I tried," Joyce said. "She still won't say anything about it. It's unhealthy, isn't? To hold up all these feelings? I mean, I ask and I ask, but she just won't talk about it. Do you think it would be wrong to suggest for her to go speak to someone?"

"Oh, I think it's a good idea," Jenny said, "but I just can't see it working for someone like Buffy. When she doesn't want to talk, she won't. You could ask her but…"

Joyce nodded. "Yeah."

"Is Hank still in town?"

"No, he had to go back to work. But I was so glad he came. Apparently, he and Buffy parted on some shaky terms, and they talked a couple days ago. They seem OK now."

Jenny smiled. "Well, then that's good." She paused, wondering how to phrase her next question. "So…what about Katherine?"

Surprisingly, instead of sighing, a small hint of a smile appeared on Joyce's face. "She's gotten better. A lot better. I mean, she's not anywhere near as healthy as other babies are, and her heart isn't very strong, but since last week…so much improvement. It's amazing."

"That's wonderful. It seems like things starting to improve, huh?"

Joyce nodded. "Yes, they definitely are."

~~~

Buffy sat in her room, staring at the blank piece of paper, as she had been doing for the past fifteen minutes. Maybe if she inspected it long enough, something would just appear there, showing her what to write. Because she had no idea. She'd eaten some crackers and drank some juice for her breakfast, and then gone back upstairs to barricade herself in her shell. She'd been looking at the small Polaroid of her baby, which Cordelia had taken, and she suddenly needed to write. Out of the blue, she just had to put something down on paper, though she honestly had no idea what or why.

What could she possibly write that could come close to conveying what she was feeling? Nothing really would be able to. But she wrote. Her pen curved slowly around the paper, as words she'd longed to say for so very long materialized in front of her eyes. They were words of her heart, of her very soul. They were simple, but they were the only things she knew. She wrote of hopes and dreams…and she wrote of the things that had destroyed them. She spoke joy and happiness, and raw emotion and pain. She wrote of love. She wrote of angels.

~~~

The night was calm. It was still. The only sound that filled the house was the gentle clang of dishes being washed. Life seemed tranquil, simple. A mother cleaning up after dinner, a teenaged daughter in her bedroom. So simple.

Appearances were deceiving.

Buffy gazed out the window, just as she had done many times before. Cold autumn air blew at her face, swirling around in her hair. She had written today but it was more than just wasted ink. She felt lighter, lifted, relieved. Free. She knew where she stood in life. She knew who she was, and no matter how complicated that notion was, no one could take it away.

Turning her head slowly, her eye caught the phone resting on her nightstand. She considered it a moment before reaching over and taking it off its cradle. She dialed a number she knew by heart and waited.

"Hi, Willow. It's me." A small smile spread across her face as her friend bubbled out a surprised greeting. "I'm fine…No, I was just thinking about stuff…Yeah, it's a good thing…I was wondering if we could talk. You could come over here tomorrow. If you wanted…Great…Yeah, see you then…Bye, Will."

She replaced the phone and resumed her seat. Tomorrow. It would be hard but she was going to do it. She had to…and she wanted to. Willow was going to come and Buffy was going to tell her everything. Everything.

A soft knock sounded from the door and Buffy turned to see her mom.

"You should probably get some rest," Joyce said quietly.

Buffy stared at her for a while as deja vu played out in her room. This same conversation had played all too many times months ago. She had been withdrawn, just as she was now. It had to be finished.

"OK," she said. "I will."

Joyce looked mildly surprised at a response and nodded quickly. She lingered at the door for a moment before stepping back to leave.

"Mom, wait."

She paused and turned back. "Yes?"

"Goodnight," Buffy said, her tone simple but firm.

"Goodnight, Buffy," Joyce replied, and accepting smile playing across her lips. "Sleep well."

"You too."

Joyce nodded and, still smiling, shut the door and headed back down the hall.

Buffy stared at the spot where her mother had been, feeling appeasement she hadn't experienced in so long. So closed her window and slid into bed. After turning off the light, she lay there, looking at the familiar ceiling. But it seemed different, almost new. She identified the same crack in the corner and the unchanging glow-in-the-dark star she'd stuck up their a couple years ago. It was the same but suddenly, everything had changed. And with the feeling of contentment, and hope of tomorrow, Buffy drifted into a gentle, peaceful sleep, dreaming of what was to come.

~~~

Joyce had awoken to the morning sun streaming vibrantly through the curtains, signaling a new day. And it definitely was. Last night had been the first night she'd fallen asleep without worry and sadness etched in her face.

Walking down the hall seemed like an entirely new experience, though she did it at least ten times a day. She quietly opened the last door on the right, and smiled tenderly when she saw Buffy lying on her customary position on her side, slumped against the mattress. Joyce went over to the windows and pulled back the blinds, the rays of the morning flowing profoundly into every corner of the bedroom.

She smiled again as she arrived at Buffy's side. Gently rubbing her daughter's back, she said, "Come one, honey. Time to get up."

Buffy didn't even groan in response, in a deep sleep. As Joyce continued the keep her hand on Buffy's shoulder, she was struck with how calm she looked. Usually Buffy was a pretty light sleeper, rolling away from noise the second she heard it, grabbing her pillow to press over her ears. Teenagers.

Joyce carefully rolled her over a little by pulling back her shoulder. Her body seemed so stiff…

There are moments of your life that, even thirty years later, you can remember so painfully clear that it scares you. You can see your surroundings, you can sense the temperature, you can feel the texture. Today was September first, and it was going to be a warm one. The leaves hadn't yet begun to fall outside of the Summers' home but they had turned a brilliant shade of various reds and yellows. Maybe it would rain soon… Buffy had always liked the rain.

The clock read 11:26. The sun cast intricate patterns of the bedspread, twinkling like little stars that had come out during the day to tease everyone.

Joyce was faintly aware of the doorbell ringing, sounding like it was a million miles away. She made no move to go answer it. Why was Buffy so still? Why was she so pale? Why wasn't she waking up, even as she was shaken? Why?

"Buffy, wake-up." The only sound that was heard was a bird, somewhere outside, twittering away like life couldn't get any better.

Joyce pulled back the covers, knowing her daughter would awake if she were cold. But she was already so cold. A sharp cry echoed throughout the house as the woman's eyes landed on the sheets. Once white, now ruby. A wine stain had formed around Buffy's legs, staining the bed and blankets and her nightgown. It stained everything, wine did. Joyce had once spilled it on a borrowed dress and it had never come out. But Jenny had forgiven her, saying it was only a dress. That was why she and Jenny were such good friends, they were open and forgiving with each other. Joyce was glad Buffy had such good friends as well.

The doorbell rang again. 11:27.

Then again, if they were such good friends, why was Buffy drinking wine? And suddenly, maybe it wasn't wine…

"Buffy, you need to wake-up," Joyce said, her voice sounding foreign in her own ears. "Buffy, wake-up… Wake-up!"

The doorbell rang again.

"Buffy…?"

~~~

The first day of senior year. Oh the chaos. The class of '99 had already started acting like it was summer and they were finally free of high school. Snyder wasn't too happy about that one. He ran around the campus, issuing detention left and right, trying in vain to control the "outrageous, completely unacceptable behavior." In wasn't working in the least.

Angel sat at his desk the history room, waiting for his first class of the year to arrive. Had it been any other opening day, he would have already thought of some rousing speech to encourage the seniors to make the most of their final months of school. He would tell them about college and pursuing dreams and ambitions. The class would get all riled up, and, without knowing it, would become excited to learn. But today, Angel's mind came up blank for anything remotely inspirational to say. If fact, he couldn't really think of anything to say…

Glancing out of the window, he saw Willow, Cordelia and Xander standing together in the parking lot. It still amazed him that they had become friends. Two years ago, Cordelia wouldn't have gone anywhere near them unless she'd come up with some witty insult or jibe. And now they were all inseparable. Their friendship hadn't been shaken throughout the last year, showing they had a truly strong bond.

Angel frowned a little as he watched them interact. There was something wrong. They weren't smiling, they weren't laughing. They were just standing there, motionless. Willow's arms were wrapped around herself and her posture was hunched. Cordelia's purse dropped suddenly to the pavement, her arm giving way. She took a staggering step back from the redhead. Xander just stood there, frozen, as Willow said something else. Cordy began to shake her head in denial.

Angel barely noticed when kids begin to enter the classroom. His eyes were trained on the trio.

Willow's hands had slumped to her side, no longer having the strength to hold them up. Cordy abruptly cried out, though it appeared silent from where Angel sat. As she began to sob hysterically, still shaking her head, Xander pulled her body to him, his eyes blank with shock. Willow's head lowered, and she pressed her fingers to her eyes, trying to block those stupid tears.

"Mr. O'Connor."

Angel jumped a little, reluctantly taking his eyes of his deranged cousin and her friends. He turned to see Rupert Giles, the librarian of the school, standing by his desk. The man, who was around his late forties, looked utterly awful. His eyes held bags that could only be caused by heartache and lack of sleep. His clothes were rumpled and his tie was crooked. It scared Angel; Giles was always so neat, never to be seen looking remotely disheveled. He was now.

"I…I must speak with you in private," he said, his voice quiet.

"Is there something wrong?" Angel asked, worry worming its way into his mind.

Giles jaw twitched a little and he momentarily averted his eyes. "Come."

With one more glanced out at the now empty parking lot, Angel stood as the older man motioned for him to follow. They were silent as they walked down towards the library. They passed the office where many teachers had gathered, some crying, some just in shock. What was going on?

They reached the library and, when Angel went in, Cordelia, Willow and Xander were already there. Cordy's face was buried in Xander's shirt, and Jenny Calendar sat with Willow, holding her hand, mourning quietly.

"I think it would be wise to take them home," Giles suggested, gently, his eyes on his wife.

"What…what's going on?" Angel asked, fearing the answer. Buffy's friends were here; Buffy's family friends were here. His mind raced in denial. The baby… He wouldn't allow himself to even think that the tiny girl was… No. She wasn't. She wasn't…

Giles looked over at him, desolation clouding his weary features. "We…we just got some news yesterday… I…I heard you were close with Buffy Summers."

Angel didn't answer. Instead, he swallowed, trying to wet his dry throat, and asked, "What happened?"

Cordelia, just recognizing his presence, unstably stood and went to him. She nearly threw herself at him, more sobs escaping. "Oh God, Angel… Tell me this is a nightmare. Tell me."

Angel's eyes flew helplessly to the other occupants gathered. Xander was the only one who met his gaze.

He looked from his broken girlfriend to his teacher and gave a tiny, senseless laugh. "Buffy's dead."


	13. Part 12

****

Part 12

Her room was empty. Painfully bare. No one went in there anymore – not since last week when the movers had come to remove the furniture. The bureau, the two shelves and the bed had been the last things to leave. It was amazing how four men could come into the somber house and take the remaining tangible parts of someone who had lived there only a short time ago. It was just furniture – just a bunch of wood thrown together and sold for books and mattresses and pictures to rest on – but it felt like so much more than that. It was _her_ bed and _her_ shelves. It was what she used everyday to get her clothes from; it was what she slept on. But she would never again use them. She couldn't…

It had taken Joyce four weeks to realize Buffy wasn't coming back. It was strange. At the funeral, she had stood over her daughter's coffin, listening dizzily to the priest repeat words that had been used since before time. She'd felt Hank's hand on her arm and was quiet as he cried next to her. Out of the corner of her eye, Jenny and Giles were standing, tears falling silently down their faces. Cordelia hadn't been able to hold herself together, retreating early. She'd stumbled away from the small gathering, walking blindly away from where her friend now lay. Willow's hand was clasped in Xander's as they tried to provide each other with something resembling comfort. Joyce had been struck with how much older he both looked and seemed. He had shed his bright, mixed-matched shirts and goofy smile, and now wore a stiff suit. His tie was even straight.

As a pile of soil was thrown over the mahogany casket, heads had turned away, unable to watch. Joyce was led away from the hole in the ground, which was slowly filling. As people branched off through the sea of graves, she could still hear the sound of earth falling onto the wooden box, bringing her farther and farther away from her baby. Her eyes downcast to the occasional blocks of concrete stones and grass, she never noticed the sun descend over the horizon, shadowing the figure that stood alone by a looming tree.

That had been three weeks ago, and now Joyce sat in the empty kitchen, in the empty house, her mind devoid of thoughts. Sitting was the only thing that she could do because she sure couldn't sleep. She'd wake up every five minutes, her whole body wondering if maybe, just maybe, if she got up and walked down the hall, Buffy would be in her bedroom, sleeping in peace. After twenty times of hoping, she realized that no one was in that room. She was alone.

Willow and Jenny had come by last weeks to help her go through Buffy's stuff. They'd sorted through pictures and letters and stuffed animals, all bursting with character and life. It felt wrong. Deciding what things were to be donated to charity or go to various people or be kept in storage was a task all of them hoped to have never had to do. But I seemed to fall upon them.

The phone rang loudly, suddenly, a sound that would have startled most people. But Joyce was so tired – both mentally and physically – that she just raised her head in the direction of the receiver and let the machine get it.

"Hi, Mrs. Summers," a man's voice said cheerfully through the speaker, "this is Doctor Abrams from Sunnydale General, and I'm calling about little Katherine. If you could, please stop by the hospital whenever you have time. I'd just like to discuss some things with you. Great. Thank you. Bye!"

~~~

"It's pretty, huh?"

Xander smiled sadly at her and nodded. "It is."

Cordelia glanced up at him returned the gesture. "I never knew she could draw so well…"

"I didn't either."

She looked back down at the paper in her hand and felt that familiar tightening in her chest. The sketch was of two hands, gently holding each other. Though in pencil, the beauty was not lost on anyone who saw. Through the two joined hands, the love was evident. The way they held… The grasp was soft, yet firm. Cordelia had never examined art long enough to grasp the depth of it, but if all of it was like this, she would definitely start looking.

"I wish we had talked more," she said quietly. "Maybe is I had been a better person…"

Xander shook his head. "Cordy…you were a wonderful friend to Buffy. You were there for her."

"Sure I was – in the past year. But before…" She trailed off, trying not to think about it, though these thoughts had nagged at her brain since Buffy's death.

"Cordelia, listen to me: we all know about before. But it's over; it's in the past. You can't beat yourself up for how you acted."

"I was horrible," she said, her voice hushed. "I was such a bitch to her and to you and…and to everyone. I was awful."

"Key word being 'was.' " Xander waited until she would meet his eyes. "I watched you. I saw you change. I _know_ you changed. And so did Buffy and so does Willow and so does everyone else. You aren't like that anymore. You aren't that girl."

Cordelia's eyes released a tear and she took in a shaky breath. "I just…I just didn't realized how much I would miss her. And now…she's gone."

"I know," Xander said, his voice breaking as well. "I know."

~~~

"I'm glad you two could come in so soon." The doctor smiled widely, an expression that seemed so inappropriate for the situation that Joyce wondered if he was even human. Hank, obviously having similar thoughts, shifted in the seat next to her. Glad he was here, she scooted a little closer. She just couldn't come back into this building alone. She feared it, and he had been more than willing to.

"As you both know, we have incubated Katherine for almost a month and have continued to monitor her condition. During the birth, she underwent a lot of trauma, and sometimes, on a baby that small, it is hard to get them to ever recover. But, much to out delight and surprise, Katherine seems to be fully recovered."

Dr. Abrams smiled more, watching the faces of the two people in front of him as the news set in. A new light seemed to be brought to both their eyes, making the clear exhaustion overweighed by relief.

Joyce covered her hand with her mouth, shock coming off in waves.

"And," the doctor continued, "she is ready to leave the hospital."

A small, choked cry escaped from her throat, and Hank's body slumped in assuagement. Mixed thoughts raced through their minds. Though the joy seemed to outshine all else, there was still the lingering notion that Buffy would never walk out of here with her daughter in her arms. In fact, she had never even gotten the chance to hold her…

"Now, the reason I wanted to talk to you in person if the part about custody." Dr. Abrams glanced down at the file in his hand and said, "I understand you are divorced. I would like to send Katherine home as soon as possible so the sooner you make your decision, the sooner she will be home. I, uh, have never met her father so I don't know about… Well, have you three discussed it?"

Joyce winced a little, the pain of not-knowing still there. She was surprised the doctor didn't know about…well, the lack of the paternal side.

"We haven't," Hank said, feeling slightly uncomfortable about the topic. "He's in New York. I'm not sure when he'll be back, assuming he's coming back." He paused, flashing back to the look at the man's face at Buffy's funeral. All that had filled Hank's mind had been doubts about what had happened between his daughter and Angel, but the expression he wore as he stared at the place where she was being buried… The doubt had been abolished instantly. The raw, unconcealed pain etched into every corner of his body hid nothing from the world, something that was extremely unlike him.

"I see," the doctor said with a nod. "Well, in that case, do you two think-"

"Wait, what?"

Both men looked over at Joyce, who was looking thoroughly confused and alarmed.

"Well, I don't know for sure that he won't be back," Hank said, "but the way he-"

"You know who the father is?"

Hank frowned a little. "Of course. Buffy told me when she was in LA. Why do you ask? Did you think she wouldn't tell me?"

Joyce's jaw went slack, his words registering suddenly in her mind. "She never told me."

"What? What do you mean?"

"Buffy never told me who the father of the baby was," Joyce said, her voice shaking. "You know…? Who…? I don't understand. W-who…?"

"Angel O'Connor," Hank said, still not grasping the fact that Buffy hadn't told her own mother, even after her confession to him.

Joyce didn't move for the longest time, didn't blink. Finally, as the name sunk in, her eyes widened in horror. "Her…_teacher_?"

~~~

Empty conferences rooms are strange to be in all alone. The quiet seems solid, and you always think that someone's going to come in at any second. But no one ever does. Angel almost wished that somebody would enter. Maybe it could distract him from the spiral he was ever so willing to go down. His powerful presence seemed weak and defeated as he sat in silence by the large glass windows. The city outside was buzzing with life and activity, two things he hadn't known for some time. Soundproof walls, soundproof windows. He was blocked off. He could see them moving, see them talking, but he couldn't do the same. He couldn't be apart of it. He had no idea what he was going to do. Resigning from teaching and putting a house on the market didn't mean he had decided his future. And to think that only a few month ago it had been so clear…

A question that remained almost hidden in back of his mind was the thought that it was all worth nothing. To feel, to hate, to love… It was all meaningless. Feeling led to taking away the simplicity, if there was any, from life and adding complications. Dangerous, wonderful, scary complications. Were they worth it?

He heard the door open and turned to see who was bothering him.

"Darla, I thought I told you not to disturb me."

"I know but you have a call," the blond said urgently.

Angel frowned. "And I told you to hold all my calls."

The secretary nodded but said, "You did but he says it's important. Really important."

He tried not to lose patients with his employees but sometimes enough was enough. "Darla-"

"It's Hank Summers," she interrupted.

Angel stopped. "It's… W-why is he calling?"

Darla shrugged a little. "I don't know but I told him you weren't taking calls but he was insistent about talking to you. What should I say?"

"Never mind," he said, his voice becoming stiff, trying to block feeling. "What line is he on?"

"Three."

Angel nodded a little. He gave Darla a small nod of acknowledgement and she hurried off, not wishing to be yelled at.

He considered the phone for what seemed like hours. What could Hank Summers possibly want? Why was he calling? He tried to convince himself it was business related but somehow couldn't see how it could be. Hank had seen him at the hospital. He had been cradling Buffy's body to his own when the group had come running up. Maybe Hank had thought Angel was just trying to be nice. It was weird though; he hadn't even asked why he had been there in the first place. Knowing how protective he was over his family, Angel was have thought that he would be bombarded with questions the second Hank arrived at the scene. Instead, the man had just gone off to get a nurse and some towels to clean up the spilled coffee.

It was definitely a bad idea to answer the phone, just plain bad. Yet his hand went to the cold, black plastic and picked it up in an almost stone-like way. Putting it to his ear, he took a calming breath, which didn't seem to work at all, and opened his mouth to speak.

"Hello?"

"Mr. O'Connor. I'm glad I reached you."

"Y-yes. I mean…" He took another shaky inhale. "Yes. Is there something you needed to discuss with me?"

There was pause from the other line, causing Angel's anxiety to increase greatly. This was such a bad idea…

"Katherine was released from the hospital the other day," Hank's said finally. "She's ready to go home. I want you to come back to California and get her."

He frowned a little. "Who's Katherine?"

From Hank's lack of immediate answer, Angel could tell he was surprised for some reason. "Who's Katherine?" he echoed, a little confused. "She's…she's your daughter."

Of all the crazy things he'd ever been told, this by far took home the gold. Angel usually handled things in a calm, collected way, never showing what he was really thinking. But not now. He couldn't now. He felt himself sink into a chair, felt the upholstery stoop to his weight. Just how he got to the seat he didn't know. But he was there. Thankfully.

"Yes, I know you're the father," Hank was saying, unable to even fathom what was racing through the other man's mind. "I found out last spring."

"Her…her name is Katherine…?" Angel asked weakly.

Hank said nothing. He could hear uneven breathing from the other line. He'd had no idea Angel didn't know what his own child's name was. He almost felt sorry…

"Yes, Katherine Elizabeth. Summers."

Hank listened intently for a reaction but was surprised when he could almost hear the sound of a man's heart being torn in two. "I want you to come to Sunnydale. As soon as possible."

Hank took a breath and tried to steady himself. He would not back down; he knew what he had to do and he'd planned to do it for the past day, ever since Joyce had broken down about the news. He shook the thought out of his head. This was not the time to fixate on the way she'd reacted. He just had to speak.

"I want you to have custody of Katherine."

"What?" Angel asked, whispering.

"I…I don't like you," Hank said quietly. "I don't know if I ever will be able to. But Buffy loved you. I could see it. I could tell she needed you and I didn't do anything…and I regret it more than anything." He closed his eyes briefly, quickly rubbing his fingers over his eyes. "You…you're her father. And as much as I'd like to ignore that…I can't. She needs you. Buffy… She would have wanted it to be this way."

"I-" Angel swallowed as his voice came out scratchy and dry. What could he say? No words… "I'll be there tonight."

"Good."


	14. Part 13

****

Part 13

"Angel?! Oh my God, what are you doing here?" Cordelia stepped aside, admitting him in to the house. "I thought you were going to stay in New York!"

Angel looked unsure as his cousin closed the door behind him, a happy expression playing on her face. "I-I was but… Why are you here?"

"We're here seeing the baby," Cordy said. "She's out of the hospital." Facing him she smiled before enveloping him in a hug. "I'm so glad you came back." After releasing him, she motioned for him to follow. "Come on."

They turned and Angel found himself standing in the Summers' living room.

"Look who's here! He came back to the Dale." Cordelia said to the group.

Xander, who was leaning against the wall, gave him a little nod, not really caring if the man was back or not.

Hank immediately rose from his seat. "Mr. O'Connor," he acknowledged coolly, extending him hand. Angel shook it, though weakly, unprepared for any of this.

Joyce stood a few steps behind her ex-husband, her eyes downcast. She wished more than anything that this was not happening.

"Mrs. Summers," Angel greeted, his voice quiet, stilling the room.

She finally glanced over, quickly meeting his eyes before darting them away. "Mr. O'Connor," she managed.

Angel nodded a little, mostly to himself. Maybe they could…_talk_…? Later of course. Maybe.

The three students observed the stiff exchanged all wearing identical frowns of confusion.

"Willow," Hank said, "could you let Mr. O'Connor hold Katherine?"

The redhead smiled from her place on the couch and stood, extending the tiny bundle to her former teacher. Angel did a wonderful impression of deer caught in headlights. His eyes swiveled from side to side, as if he was trying to find some way to escape.

"Here," Willow said to him. She gently pushed the baby against him, and his instinctively arms went under. Angel glanced around one last time, uncertain of what to do. He finally just looked down and found himself instantly forgetting anything. His surroundings were gone, and the people, all staring at him, were gone too. He stood in the room alone. Alone with the baby. The thing that struck him first way just how small she was. His hand was bigger than her head, which wore a tiny little hat to keep it warm. Her doll-like mouth was parted slightly, relaxed as she slept soundly, unaware of what was going on around her. As he took in her petit appearance, it began to set in that the person in his arms was his. She was his. He had…he had helped _create_ her. That night in mid-January had been raining and storming, and he and Buffy hadn't been able to stop themselves. Out of their love, their life, they'd made this baby. And Buffy wasn't here to see her.

Joyce, who just moments ago couldn't bring herself to look at him, now could not avert her eyes from his face. She watched as Angel's jaw twitched slightly, as he locked it to try to keep from losing his stone-like composure. Though his gaze was down, looking at Katherine, Joyce could see an almost invisible drop fall from his face and onto the blanket bellow. She glanced over at Hank and could tell he too was trying to keep himself together. The other three in the room just looked confused. They knew Angel had been close with Buffy, always calling on her when her hand was up and using her in examples. It had been like…like they were real friends and not just a history teacher and his favorite student. But the way he looked now… It looked so much more complicated than that.

Angel's shoulders began to shake a little, self-control slipping fast. The knot inside of him was consuming his will and his ability to control his own limbs. Abruptly, he handed Katherine back to Willow and turned. Before anyone knew what had happened, he was gone.

"W-what…? What just…?" Cordelia motioned to the door, then to the baby and then just stood there, looking lost.

Hank glanced over at Joyce as she hurriedly brushed a lone tear off her face. She held his gaze for a lingering moment before heading out the front door. Hank made no move to follow, understanding what she needed to do. He waited until the room had resumed its silence before turning to his daughter's three friends, knowing it was finally time to release the truth.

Joyce gently shut the door, letting the small click be the only sound for many minutes. Angel stood at the far end of the porch, leaning of the ledge, trying to gain some much-needed support. If the birds were chirping, neither noticed, too busy with their own thoughts.

"Are you going to be all right?" Joyce asked quietly.

There was no direct reply, Angel just continued to stare out at the road ahead. "The last time to talked to her – really talked – was…February. And I told her that I had another business trip, one that would last longer than the others did. I…I mention we couldn't call each other because…well, we couldn't. It sort of set us both off. We ended up screaming at each other."

Joyce said nothing as she watched him wince at the memory. His words hit her in the heart, seeing how deeply they effected him.

"I left for New York and didn't see she until…the hospital. And that was the last time." Angel was silent for a few more delaying beats. He turned his head and briefly met Joyce's eyes. "I'm sorry."

"F-for what?" she questioned, surprised he'd directed his speech to her.

"Everything," he replied. The word was simple but suddenly seemed so very complicated.

Joyce considered him for a couple drawn out moments. She'd first met him at the school's Parent/Teacher Night last September and had instantly pinned him as the best teacher there. He was intelligent and young and very motivated about his work. She lectured Buffy about doing better in his class especially because it would in part help when it came time for getting recommendations. Little did she know that around that time, her daughter and the nice history teacher would experience their first, and most confusing, kiss.

Now, she saw him differently. Whether higher or lower she did not know. He was no longer Buffy's teacher; he was the man who had gotten her pregnant, left for two months, made no attempt to approach her when he returned, made her cry countless times and had been an all around irresponsible adult. But he was also the man who was near crying; who had poured his heart out about his guilt. He was the man who loved her. Yes, she definitely saw him through different eyes.

"You blame yourself," she observed.

He let out a small, almost nonexistent laugh and looked away once more. "I made no move to stop what started last year. It was selfish and foolish… She's really gone, and it's all my fault." He glanced back over and said, so quietly she almost didn't hear, "I can't take custody of this baby. I don't deserve it."

Joyce internally condemned his nobility, seeing it as a good sign.

"Did you love her?"

Angel closed his eyes, restraining the sting in under his lids. "More than anything."

Taking a shaky inhalation, Joyce nodded. The relief she felt at those words consumed her mind and eased her heart. "Then I'm sorry as well."

The door abruptly swung open, revealing Cordelia. Her eyes were wide with unconcealed shock. Spotting Angel immediately, her mouth parted slightly and she slowly shook her head.

"What have you done?" she whispered to him as a tear slid down her cheek.

Before anyone had a chance to say anything, she had torn down the stairs, across the yard and blindly down the street, away from her cousin and friends.

~~~

Angel raised his head to see Xander enter the otherwise empty room. The Chase living room, elaborately furnished, had all but a small lamp out due to Angel's liking of darkness. Closing the door behind him, Xander hung back as he turned to face his former teacher, no longer afraid.

"So," he said, voice neutral, "you're taking custody."

Angel, suddenly feeling a twinge of an unfamiliar feeling called intimidation, just nodded in response.

"And you're Katherine's father."

Another nod.

"I see." Xander walked over to the couch opposite the man and sat. They said nothing for a long while, both adjusting the each other's presence and feelings for the whole situation.

"Why weren't you here months ago, when she really needed you?" Xander's question stung, despite the calm in his tone.

"I…I don't know," was Angel's only answer. He too had asked himself the same thing time and time again and, after so much thought and deliberation, still had no answer.

"Did you not want to be here?"

Angel looked up sharply. "Of course not." Off the prodding look he received, he said, "I can't explain it. I wish that I could but…there's just no way. N-no answer."

"Are you…are you happy about being a dad? I mean, if Katherine hadn't made it but Buffy had…? What would you have chosen?"

Angel frowned at Xander. It was obviously the boy was trying to be blunt and make him feel as uncomfortable as possible, but all he could think was that these were the same things he'd forced from his mind oh so many times over the past month. "You can't ask me to choose between my daughter and…"

"And what?" Xander asked directly after Angel had started to trail off. There was no response but the look of Angel's face told volumes.

He glanced up, finally meeting Xander's hard gaze. He studied the younger man's face carefully, seeing the way his eyes were narrowed. "You're still in love with her."

Xander, not missing a beat, replied, "Aren't you?"

Instead of addressing the indict, Angel said, "You were a good friend. I'm glad you were there for her."

Xander frowned, but, when seeing only sincerity, said quietly, "I'm sorry that you weren't."

As Angel flinched slightly, Xander looked down, feeling actually sympathy for him as he realized that the man had truly been in love with Buffy Summers. "So," he said, deciding to change the topic, "what are you going to do now?"

Angel took in a weary breath. "Well first I'm going to go upstairs and talk to Cordelia. How is she?"

Xander shrugged. "How do you think?"

Sighing a little, Angel rubbed his eyes as if he was trying to massage the tiredness away. "OK."

"After you talk and then buy her a bunch of clothes, _then_ what are you going to do?"

Angel actually smiled at Xander's knowledge of Cordy. "Then I'm going to take my house off the market and move back in."

"You're not going back to New York?" Xander asked, though that was what he'd expected from him.

"I'm not going to take Katherine away from her family," Angel said, shaking his head.

"You are her family," Xander pointed out.

"So are you."

The two men, both who'd hated one another for as long as they'd known each other, held their regard. For the very first time they found a silent, but mutual, respect for each other.

"I'm glad to hear it," Xander said.

Angel rose from the chair, pausing to ready himself for facing his cousin. As he headed towards the hall Xander's voice caused him to pause in the doorway.

"Do you think you'll ever find love again?"

Angel said nothing for the longest time. Finally a small whisper of a smile played across his lips. Standing a little taller, he nodded to himself. "Yes." As the expression on his face, outlined with a hint of sadness, grew, he turned his head to look back at Xander and nodded again. "My daughter."

There was silence as Angel continued on his way, and even minutes after he had left, Xander still sat there, staring after the place where he had stood. Yes, he thought, maybe I will too. Standing up, he started towards the stairs, going to find Cordelia.

****

Terminus


End file.
